I have been doing some reflection here lately on the brands and styles of homes that are the current appeal to consumers. I am in the home sales business. I see a current trend towards simplifying in choice of homes. Most of the press I read expresses the fact that people in general are leaning towards this simplification in terms of housing. Not that long ago the McMansions were the order of the day. A home purchase was predominately for the purpose of gaining equity so that you could spin off and buy something bigger and better eventually with that equity.
Now you are lucky if you have a mortgage payment that is manageably within the framework of your family budget. There are many, many homes sitting without occupants that are memorials to the tendency of Americans to use the home for a cash cow in second and third mortgages to finance expensive vacations, buy bigger cars and purchase those beach houses. Those are all lovely things but unfortunately the current financial crisis has exacerbated many people in the direction of short sales and foreclosures. If you do a walk through of the current MLS I would wager that 1 in every 3 offered for sale is a short sale. We live in hard times. Hard times that are largely of our own making.
Back in the early 70's my sweet wife was into needle point. She loved to make little samplers with pithy little sayings, framed for display in the homes of those she loved. One she made for her parents said this: " A house is made of brick and stone. A home is made of love alone." That is a pertinent call for reflection.
Her parent's home was a monument to living within one's means. It was just the three of them in that home. You had to search very far to find a little family that just flat out loved one another and led a more happy life than they did.
I was raised in a home that my grandmother owned in southern West Virginia. There was a total absence of indoor plumbing. I had to follow a well worn path some 500 yards from the house for bio-function. We drank water from an old cistern that was gathered from the rain when it came. I remember very well getting our first TV and our first telephone.
I now live in a much nicer house. It has three full baths indoors. We have phones galore, wireless ones, cellular ones and have a TV in three of our four bedrooms and of course one that is much bigger in our family room. There is a pool in the back yard and a golf course 50 yards from the front of my house.
Do all of these amenities make me a happier person? Not in the least. My happiness is drawn from the person I am married to. The three children who have given us, so far, 7 grand children are the reservoir of happiness for myself and my wife.
So I sit back and reflect now at 66 yoa and think back to a thirty year career chasing a paycheck which could buy me a little bigger house, car and play things and realize that the pursuit was superfluous to the things that matter. Perhaps that is one positive aside from this recession/depression that we find ourselves mired within. I think that we have all learned a valuable lesson from this belt tightening experience.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Biding our time
One of the Associate editors of the Tallahassee "mullet wrapper" did an interesting little column this weekend on his experience of waiting an excessive amount of time in a physician's office and finally walking out without seeing the physician. I think that all of us have had that experience.
For twenty years of a thirty year career I used to have to try and access physicians in thier offices to detail them on our pharmaceutical products. I facetiously called myself a professional waiter. The drill went thusly: you walked into an office and presented your card to the receptionist and asked if there was any possible way that you might grab their doctor for a moment. You then sat down and waited. Many times the receptionist was kind enough to tell you that there was no time today because they were slammed. Towards the mid part of that twenty years, I would wait 30 minutes maximum and then leave some literature and be on my way. Otherwise you could be sitting in the corner there for hours.
I have observed steamed patients giving the receptionist an earful of painful monologue, interjected with severe profanity after having spent 2-3 hours in the pursuit of an appointment and still no face time with the physician. " If I ran my business as inefficiently as you run this business, I would starve to death." I had a man almost attack me once in a parking lot as I was putting my detail bag back in my trunk. I had just spent 30-45 minutes with the physician talking about drugs, football, the war and telling jokes. This man had been steaming in the waiting room to see the physician and blamed me for holding him up. His wife held him off from taking a swing at me as I advised him that the samples he held in his hand came from my trunk or one of my competitors. He was old, agitated and markedly short tempered. Of course who is to say that he didn't have a handgun in his pocket. I was therefore apologetic and diplomatic.
I could tell the personality of a physician before I ever met them. If you walked into a bright, cheery office and were greeted civilly, you can bet that the physician was bright, cheery and fun to be around. He enjoyed his job and took good care of his patients. If you were greeted cooly by a grouchy receptionist and the staff looked cowed and nervous, you could bet your boots that the physician was a near tyrant having a bad day. Best to steer clear and be on your way. I always liked that part of my job. I could have a very unpleasant exchange with the physician or a staff member and get my plow cleaned. However, as I drove away I assured myself how lucky I was to not have to work there. I had so many potential clients to call on that I really never had to go back into that office. Pity the poor people who had to go there everyday.
My wife has to go see a vitreoretinologist here in Tallahassee. One time she waited for 4 hours to have him spend 1.5 minutes with her. Cost? $120. That office is sheer chaos. The up front staff are the most sanguine, unfriendly people you will ever meet. Why do you suppose that is? I would conjecture that they catch heat every day from one or more patients over the extraordinary wait times. The physicians are overworked because there are no other such specialists within 2-3 hours of Tallahassee. They are the only show in town. You would think that they would set a schedule and adhere to it very rigidly. If they got off course then maybe you would be 30 minutes to an hour off your appointment time. But FOUR hours? Hardly excusable.
I remember calling on a physician in Blountstown named Elga White. He was a general practitioner and had a very busy practice. He would see drug reps just before lunch and just before 5:00 PM. On occassions he would see you in between I am assuming if he had a no show or two. On those occassions he had a nurse who monitored his time. If you got too embellished with him and took too much time she would come into the room and advise him that he was 5 minutes off pace in seeing patients. He would politely conclude his visit with you and return to his patients. Now that was a man in control.
I once read a book on time management. I cannot remember the name of it but I do remember one very impactful quote." Time is life. It is irreplaceable and irreversible. Waste your time and you waste your life." As I have meandered down the road of life I find myself into my 66th year. I am becoming more and more conscious of how I spend my time. I am prioritizing more than I used to. I am irritated when people waste my time. They will do that seemingly intent on sucking the life out of you. You have to get in control of what you agree to do and you act on decisions related to time investment. It is a precious commodity. Bide your time and do it with stinginess and thought.
For twenty years of a thirty year career I used to have to try and access physicians in thier offices to detail them on our pharmaceutical products. I facetiously called myself a professional waiter. The drill went thusly: you walked into an office and presented your card to the receptionist and asked if there was any possible way that you might grab their doctor for a moment. You then sat down and waited. Many times the receptionist was kind enough to tell you that there was no time today because they were slammed. Towards the mid part of that twenty years, I would wait 30 minutes maximum and then leave some literature and be on my way. Otherwise you could be sitting in the corner there for hours.
I have observed steamed patients giving the receptionist an earful of painful monologue, interjected with severe profanity after having spent 2-3 hours in the pursuit of an appointment and still no face time with the physician. " If I ran my business as inefficiently as you run this business, I would starve to death." I had a man almost attack me once in a parking lot as I was putting my detail bag back in my trunk. I had just spent 30-45 minutes with the physician talking about drugs, football, the war and telling jokes. This man had been steaming in the waiting room to see the physician and blamed me for holding him up. His wife held him off from taking a swing at me as I advised him that the samples he held in his hand came from my trunk or one of my competitors. He was old, agitated and markedly short tempered. Of course who is to say that he didn't have a handgun in his pocket. I was therefore apologetic and diplomatic.
I could tell the personality of a physician before I ever met them. If you walked into a bright, cheery office and were greeted civilly, you can bet that the physician was bright, cheery and fun to be around. He enjoyed his job and took good care of his patients. If you were greeted cooly by a grouchy receptionist and the staff looked cowed and nervous, you could bet your boots that the physician was a near tyrant having a bad day. Best to steer clear and be on your way. I always liked that part of my job. I could have a very unpleasant exchange with the physician or a staff member and get my plow cleaned. However, as I drove away I assured myself how lucky I was to not have to work there. I had so many potential clients to call on that I really never had to go back into that office. Pity the poor people who had to go there everyday.
My wife has to go see a vitreoretinologist here in Tallahassee. One time she waited for 4 hours to have him spend 1.5 minutes with her. Cost? $120. That office is sheer chaos. The up front staff are the most sanguine, unfriendly people you will ever meet. Why do you suppose that is? I would conjecture that they catch heat every day from one or more patients over the extraordinary wait times. The physicians are overworked because there are no other such specialists within 2-3 hours of Tallahassee. They are the only show in town. You would think that they would set a schedule and adhere to it very rigidly. If they got off course then maybe you would be 30 minutes to an hour off your appointment time. But FOUR hours? Hardly excusable.
I remember calling on a physician in Blountstown named Elga White. He was a general practitioner and had a very busy practice. He would see drug reps just before lunch and just before 5:00 PM. On occassions he would see you in between I am assuming if he had a no show or two. On those occassions he had a nurse who monitored his time. If you got too embellished with him and took too much time she would come into the room and advise him that he was 5 minutes off pace in seeing patients. He would politely conclude his visit with you and return to his patients. Now that was a man in control.
I once read a book on time management. I cannot remember the name of it but I do remember one very impactful quote." Time is life. It is irreplaceable and irreversible. Waste your time and you waste your life." As I have meandered down the road of life I find myself into my 66th year. I am becoming more and more conscious of how I spend my time. I am prioritizing more than I used to. I am irritated when people waste my time. They will do that seemingly intent on sucking the life out of you. You have to get in control of what you agree to do and you act on decisions related to time investment. It is a precious commodity. Bide your time and do it with stinginess and thought.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
One Frosty, Cold, Day in Tallahassee
I had an interesting experience in Tallahassee a few months ago. Florida State University was hosting an intercollegiate men's golf tournament at Southwood golf club where I played most of my golf. I noticed a petition for volunteers to help with the tournament and called a phone number listed in the paper and soon had a volunteer job.
Now this was mid-March. You non-north-Floridians most likely think that the weather was warm and tropical with our palm trees gently flowing from a soft gentle breeze. Those of us that live here year round know that the opposite generally holds true January through March. The weather for this tournament was bitter cold. The first day had wind gusts in the 30 mph range and the wind chill was in the teens. I was out there with sweater, jacket, gloves and thermal underwear.
My job was pretty simple. I was to drive a 6 passenger golf cart between green and tee box on particular holes. I generally had a threesome of players from the 12 universities participating. I loved rubbing shoulders with them and shooting off my big mouth. To me it was a mitigated carnival atmosphere. Shuttling the players helped to move the pace of play.
On the second day that I was there, I drove to the course to start my shift by 7:00 AM. Once I got there I found that there was a frost delay 'til 8:00 AM. In order to fill my time for an hour, I went up to the practice tee to watch the players warm up.
I spoke to several parents and friends of players watching their golfer. I welcomed them to Tallahassee, asked about their player and made general chit chat. They didn't know for certain that I was not some tournament official so everyone made nice to the old geezer, entertaining my arcane questions and comments. Until I came to this one older couple.
The man was in his late 60's to his early 70's. I said to him, " Welcome to Tallahassee. Are you enjoying your stay? Where are you from? Who is your golfer?" The man turned towards me as if his neck was stiff from sleeping on a strange pillow. He had a snow white cardigan sweater on and enormous cigar clenched in his teeth. He did not speak to me or acknowledge my presence for one split second. As a matter of fact he looked as if it was taking all he could do to restrain himself from expectorating on me. The BIGGGGGGG FREEEEEZE ! I felt like a complete doofus.
Almost instantaneously his wife jumped into the conversation. She was as ebbulient as he was condescending. She advised me that they were from Sarasota and were in Tallahassee to follow their grandson who was a North Carolina golfer. She was a lovely lady with a confident and pleasant air and I felt better. She was obviously trying to make amends for the frosty treatment this man had given me.
I made my way to the snack bar and got a drink and a snack readying myself for my shift. Mike, the Southwood golf pro, came over to sit a moment and visit. During our visit this couple walked by. I asked Mike who the old guy in the white cardigan was. He responded with do your remember the name Tony Jacklin? I thought for a moment and I said sure. Didn't he win the British Open in about 1970? He did. He was also the lead player on the 1969 European team that won the Ryder cup in a brilliant performance. I told Mike about the experience on the practice tee and he said that was a shame. I responded to him that I didn't mind. Can you just imagine how many people interupt him around golf courses when they find out who he is.
I later told my wife the story and she of course never heard of him and categorized his demeanor as unacceptable, no matter who he was. I told her, " He is Tony Jacklin, a living legend. If I was him, I would probably act just the same way." She told me that no I wouldn't. I was a pronounced people person and no matter the other person's station in life I would treat them kindly, because that was just the sort of person you are. He on the other hand is a jerk." I really couldn't argue with her.
Now this was mid-March. You non-north-Floridians most likely think that the weather was warm and tropical with our palm trees gently flowing from a soft gentle breeze. Those of us that live here year round know that the opposite generally holds true January through March. The weather for this tournament was bitter cold. The first day had wind gusts in the 30 mph range and the wind chill was in the teens. I was out there with sweater, jacket, gloves and thermal underwear.
My job was pretty simple. I was to drive a 6 passenger golf cart between green and tee box on particular holes. I generally had a threesome of players from the 12 universities participating. I loved rubbing shoulders with them and shooting off my big mouth. To me it was a mitigated carnival atmosphere. Shuttling the players helped to move the pace of play.
On the second day that I was there, I drove to the course to start my shift by 7:00 AM. Once I got there I found that there was a frost delay 'til 8:00 AM. In order to fill my time for an hour, I went up to the practice tee to watch the players warm up.
I spoke to several parents and friends of players watching their golfer. I welcomed them to Tallahassee, asked about their player and made general chit chat. They didn't know for certain that I was not some tournament official so everyone made nice to the old geezer, entertaining my arcane questions and comments. Until I came to this one older couple.
The man was in his late 60's to his early 70's. I said to him, " Welcome to Tallahassee. Are you enjoying your stay? Where are you from? Who is your golfer?" The man turned towards me as if his neck was stiff from sleeping on a strange pillow. He had a snow white cardigan sweater on and enormous cigar clenched in his teeth. He did not speak to me or acknowledge my presence for one split second. As a matter of fact he looked as if it was taking all he could do to restrain himself from expectorating on me. The BIGGGGGGG FREEEEEZE ! I felt like a complete doofus.
Almost instantaneously his wife jumped into the conversation. She was as ebbulient as he was condescending. She advised me that they were from Sarasota and were in Tallahassee to follow their grandson who was a North Carolina golfer. She was a lovely lady with a confident and pleasant air and I felt better. She was obviously trying to make amends for the frosty treatment this man had given me.
I made my way to the snack bar and got a drink and a snack readying myself for my shift. Mike, the Southwood golf pro, came over to sit a moment and visit. During our visit this couple walked by. I asked Mike who the old guy in the white cardigan was. He responded with do your remember the name Tony Jacklin? I thought for a moment and I said sure. Didn't he win the British Open in about 1970? He did. He was also the lead player on the 1969 European team that won the Ryder cup in a brilliant performance. I told Mike about the experience on the practice tee and he said that was a shame. I responded to him that I didn't mind. Can you just imagine how many people interupt him around golf courses when they find out who he is.
I later told my wife the story and she of course never heard of him and categorized his demeanor as unacceptable, no matter who he was. I told her, " He is Tony Jacklin, a living legend. If I was him, I would probably act just the same way." She told me that no I wouldn't. I was a pronounced people person and no matter the other person's station in life I would treat them kindly, because that was just the sort of person you are. He on the other hand is a jerk." I really couldn't argue with her.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
The luckiest of weeks
My goodness. I am overwhelmed at the luck that has followed me around this week. It has been a stellar week and I am afraid to wake up on Monday morning to see what else wonderful is going to happen to me.
I was nominated for the prestigious Who's Who in America. This prestigious distinction is determined by Frank and Moe's panel of business excellence, headquartered in Pathetic, AK. Not only was I nominated by this panel but dozens of other panels with even more prestigious credentials. It is just overwhelming. I knew all along that I was born to greatness but this is way beyond expectation. I am just numb with shock and awe that I have been so fortunate.
The nice folks at Frank and Moe's have gotten sort of upset at me because, I hate to admit it, I am a procrastinator. I keep neglecting to acknowledge my candidacy and they are now threatening to take me off the list of candidates all together. Golly, gee-whiz they just sent me a FINAL NOTICE for acceptance. I put it in the pile of the twenty other FINAL NOTICES from similar Who's Who in Business, Who's Who in Agriculture ( I grew a fabulous tomoato plant in a pot this spring ) and Who's who in Golfing prowess and too many others to list.
If that is not enough I got an e-mail from a lady named Tammy Sue, who told me that I was the love of her life. I have not divulged this to my sweet wife, Nancy, with whom I just celebrated 38 years of marriage. Tammy Sue tells me that she has fallen madly in love with me and that she has posted pictures of herself on a select internet site for my viewing pleasure. She encouraged me to follow the link and make sure I had a credit card handy as I logged on. I have not done so because I am really not in the market for a girl friend but I don't want to hurt her feelings. After all to have expressed the undying love and devotion she has for me is quite humbling.
Then to just set everything else aside, I got an e-mail notification from an attorney in Nigeria. He represents a member of Nigerian royalty who is in exile and it turns out that this man is my Uncle. He has no other heirs and I am in a direct line to inherit millions of dollars. Of course there are understandeable bureaucratic hurdles that need to be overcome. That will require that the attorney represent me before the Nigerian consulate of dispensation to heirs. Looks like I am going to have to up front $10,000 and most likely more before we get the estate through probate. But, c'mon, what's a few thousand dollars against an inheritance of millions?
So you can see, that I have had an unbelievable week. Heavy emphasis on unbelievable. My son works as a financial crimes investigator and he tells me that all this pales against some of the other schemes out there. Good thing I have him to consult to keep my feet on the ground, huh?
I was nominated for the prestigious Who's Who in America. This prestigious distinction is determined by Frank and Moe's panel of business excellence, headquartered in Pathetic, AK. Not only was I nominated by this panel but dozens of other panels with even more prestigious credentials. It is just overwhelming. I knew all along that I was born to greatness but this is way beyond expectation. I am just numb with shock and awe that I have been so fortunate.
The nice folks at Frank and Moe's have gotten sort of upset at me because, I hate to admit it, I am a procrastinator. I keep neglecting to acknowledge my candidacy and they are now threatening to take me off the list of candidates all together. Golly, gee-whiz they just sent me a FINAL NOTICE for acceptance. I put it in the pile of the twenty other FINAL NOTICES from similar Who's Who in Business, Who's Who in Agriculture ( I grew a fabulous tomoato plant in a pot this spring ) and Who's who in Golfing prowess and too many others to list.
If that is not enough I got an e-mail from a lady named Tammy Sue, who told me that I was the love of her life. I have not divulged this to my sweet wife, Nancy, with whom I just celebrated 38 years of marriage. Tammy Sue tells me that she has fallen madly in love with me and that she has posted pictures of herself on a select internet site for my viewing pleasure. She encouraged me to follow the link and make sure I had a credit card handy as I logged on. I have not done so because I am really not in the market for a girl friend but I don't want to hurt her feelings. After all to have expressed the undying love and devotion she has for me is quite humbling.
Then to just set everything else aside, I got an e-mail notification from an attorney in Nigeria. He represents a member of Nigerian royalty who is in exile and it turns out that this man is my Uncle. He has no other heirs and I am in a direct line to inherit millions of dollars. Of course there are understandeable bureaucratic hurdles that need to be overcome. That will require that the attorney represent me before the Nigerian consulate of dispensation to heirs. Looks like I am going to have to up front $10,000 and most likely more before we get the estate through probate. But, c'mon, what's a few thousand dollars against an inheritance of millions?
So you can see, that I have had an unbelievable week. Heavy emphasis on unbelievable. My son works as a financial crimes investigator and he tells me that all this pales against some of the other schemes out there. Good thing I have him to consult to keep my feet on the ground, huh?
Thursday, July 21, 2011
The Green Thing
I got this e-mail recently and found it amusing. I am posting it as follows. Kermit said it about as well as it could be said, " It ain't easy being green." I have been aware of the green thing for awhile. I could, if I wanted, pay $500 and sit in a class room and become a "green" realtor. There is actually some sort of certification for that. I still am puzzling over just what that means. I am of the personal opinion that it is a byline or buzz word to drive acceptance of a radical point of view. Every phase of the neutralization of human thought patterns carries it's own buzzword. I will let you play the list in your mind. I can put together a sizeable list dating back to the early 60's.
In the line at the store, the cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.
The woman apologized to him and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."
The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."
He was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.
Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store.. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized
and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.
But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb
into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.
But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.
Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.
But that old lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana ..In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.
Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.
But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.
We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.
But we didn't have the green thing back then.
Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.
But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?
Please forward this on to another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smart ass young person.
In the line at the store, the cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.
The woman apologized to him and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."
The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."
He was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.
Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store.. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized
and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.
But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb
into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.
But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.
Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.
But that old lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana ..In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.
Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.
But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.
We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.
But we didn't have the green thing back then.
Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.
But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?
Please forward this on to another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smart ass young person.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Real estate and alchemy
It seems to me that the practice of real estate is getting more and more like alchemy. You know the mystical art from the middle ages wherein a wizard, sorcerer, mostly schizoid types that thought they were such, try to turn iron into gold using various methods.
Now before you write me off as a lunatic just think about it. We mix together buyers and sellers in a chaotic market and try to align the elements of a transaction. Buyers are loosely connected to reality because they have been told that they are in charge as it is a buyer's market. Most sellers are in denial that the market is as bad as they read and hear so they set their prices beyond reasonable expectations.
Now the realtor is supposed to take all those elements and bring them together into a viable transaction that gets to the closing table and laces everyone's pockets with gold. You have to in many cases turn the lender's scrutiny into a positive element knowing all the while that it has never been harder to qualify for a loan. The seller's lender, in many cases, has to agree to take it in the shorts on the loan that he made to the seller all those several months ago when we were all living fast and loose. They have to agree to accept cents on dollars in short sale arrangements otherwise they own a piece of property in a distant city that they could care less about.
If that is not bad enough, once you get those elements looking lively then you have to endure the appraisal. That process has become a minefield. Mix in all the foreclosure and short sales, comparables are so diluted that not even a sorcerer can divine what a property is worth. Yet we press on in this mystical process we call appraisal. We accept their opinions as if they were the Rosetta stone of truth and accuracy. The truth of the matter is that they ain't got a clue. The old process has been "improved" by the government that now employs clearing houses that are assigned to retain an appraiser for a transaction. You could possibly get a Moultrie, Georgia appraiser coming into Leon county to perform an appraisal. They have no basis in experience or knowledge of a market that is foreign to them. Ala-Kabatra, Ala-kazam..........your property is worth zip! End of process and usually the sale.
Now we bring in the element of property insurers. If you are fortunate enough to get one of these guys to return your call then you are subject to all sorts of Harry Potter sorts of intepretations. From the four point inspections that they do to their interpretations as to how wind worthy your house is. After you have negotiated this complicated maze then you are off to the title search.
The title search turns up all sorts of strange manifestations, ranging from mechanic's liens to estate disputes amongst surviving heirs. You can apply all the eye of newt you wish in some of those challenges but you can likely forget getting a clear title to hang your hat on.
Add in covenants and restrictions of homeowners associations, surveys, home inspections, wood destroying organism inspections and just the general orneriness of all parties involved you had better have some elements of an alchemist within you.
To quote the wizard of Id, " Frammin' on the jim jam and frompin on the fritz !!! ". Turning iron into gold or spinning straw into gold is akin to trying to successfully get many real estate transactions to closing in our present day scheme of things. Wish it were not so, but it is and will be for some time to come.
Now before you write me off as a lunatic just think about it. We mix together buyers and sellers in a chaotic market and try to align the elements of a transaction. Buyers are loosely connected to reality because they have been told that they are in charge as it is a buyer's market. Most sellers are in denial that the market is as bad as they read and hear so they set their prices beyond reasonable expectations.
Now the realtor is supposed to take all those elements and bring them together into a viable transaction that gets to the closing table and laces everyone's pockets with gold. You have to in many cases turn the lender's scrutiny into a positive element knowing all the while that it has never been harder to qualify for a loan. The seller's lender, in many cases, has to agree to take it in the shorts on the loan that he made to the seller all those several months ago when we were all living fast and loose. They have to agree to accept cents on dollars in short sale arrangements otherwise they own a piece of property in a distant city that they could care less about.
If that is not bad enough, once you get those elements looking lively then you have to endure the appraisal. That process has become a minefield. Mix in all the foreclosure and short sales, comparables are so diluted that not even a sorcerer can divine what a property is worth. Yet we press on in this mystical process we call appraisal. We accept their opinions as if they were the Rosetta stone of truth and accuracy. The truth of the matter is that they ain't got a clue. The old process has been "improved" by the government that now employs clearing houses that are assigned to retain an appraiser for a transaction. You could possibly get a Moultrie, Georgia appraiser coming into Leon county to perform an appraisal. They have no basis in experience or knowledge of a market that is foreign to them. Ala-Kabatra, Ala-kazam..........your property is worth zip! End of process and usually the sale.
Now we bring in the element of property insurers. If you are fortunate enough to get one of these guys to return your call then you are subject to all sorts of Harry Potter sorts of intepretations. From the four point inspections that they do to their interpretations as to how wind worthy your house is. After you have negotiated this complicated maze then you are off to the title search.
The title search turns up all sorts of strange manifestations, ranging from mechanic's liens to estate disputes amongst surviving heirs. You can apply all the eye of newt you wish in some of those challenges but you can likely forget getting a clear title to hang your hat on.
Add in covenants and restrictions of homeowners associations, surveys, home inspections, wood destroying organism inspections and just the general orneriness of all parties involved you had better have some elements of an alchemist within you.
To quote the wizard of Id, " Frammin' on the jim jam and frompin on the fritz !!! ". Turning iron into gold or spinning straw into gold is akin to trying to successfully get many real estate transactions to closing in our present day scheme of things. Wish it were not so, but it is and will be for some time to come.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
American Jurisprudence
Well, the Casey Anthony verdict is in. I first detected that fact when I saw a blistering barrage of cries of FOUL PLAY on Facebook. I know, I know why do you waste your time on Facebook? I really don't spend a lot of time on it because most of the traffic there begins with " Sally done clobbered herself a gopher out in the pea patch." But there is the occassional declarative statement that is pithy and borderline meaningful. I also sometimes find pictures of friends and family that I enjoy perusing.
The facts and whys and wherefores of the case are deplorable. Little Caylee Anthony's death goes unsolved and justice seems to have slipped away. The verdict replays American sentiments at the OJ Simpson verdict. I still remember the collective gasp that OJ's acquital brought onto America. What was that twenty years ago? I still remember the CNN replays of Johnny Cochran's, " If it don't fit, you must acquit !" I suppose that in the case of the prosecutorial team, they just flat out did not present evidence that led the jury to render a verdict that left reasonable doubt in the rear view mirror. Beyond a reasonable doubt !!
Have you ever served on a jury? I have been the victim, uh, er...........I mean the chosen citizen charged with rendering a verdict on whether someone committed a crime or not, on four occassions. There is a lot of focus given to the fact that the prosecution and evidence must present a case that the accused is guilty " beyond a reasonable doubt." That means if there is one little whit inside you that is not convinced that the accused is guilty, it is your honor-bound duty to render a verdict of not guilty, beyond a reasonable doubt. That is what makes our judicial system stand muster.
This example does not stand as a reasonable comparable to the Anthony case. I will offer it just because it makes the case for what a state attorney must do to bring the guilty verdict. I was called to serve on a jury about 25 years ago. I was one of 6 jurists empanelled to determine the guilt of 2 FAMU football players who had switched the labels between a six-pack of Heinekens and a six-pack of Budweiser. The difference was 85 cents. Warehouse Foods convinced the state of Florida to go to the time and expense of trying these kids on theft charges to set a standard. I suppose they had reached the threshold of tolerance in a flurry of shop lifting in their store.
I and 5 others took two days to listen to the state make its case. We heard from the arresting officer, the store manager and countless other people who had seen these two thirsty young men do what the state was trying them on. At the end of the second day the defense attorney, Roosevelte Wilson, in his concluding defense argument, asked the state to produce the evidence. The judge then turned to the state's attorney and asked for them to produce the evidence. The state admitted that they were unable to produce the evidence. It had been removed from the evidence room by a thirsty bailiff or trustee of the sheriff's office and been consumed. The judge pounded his gavel and said " Since the state of Florida cannot produce the evidence then this case is dismissed." The jubilant accused and their defense attorney almost skipped out of the room.
I and my fellow jurors walked away scratching our heads pondering how a judicial system could allow such a waste of our time, courtroom time not to mention the cost to the court in such a case. The state's attorney must have known that the evidence was missing all along. Such is the state of affairs with our judical system.
Like it or not, our system bears the burden of proving guilt beyond any iota of doubt. It is far better for us to err on the side of a guilty person being freed on occassion than allowing an innocent person to lose their freedom or lose their life. Such is the system we live under. Less civilized countries presume your guilt. They then lop off your hands or your head sometimes on the weight of very flimsy evidence. Pardon me but I like our system better.
The facts and whys and wherefores of the case are deplorable. Little Caylee Anthony's death goes unsolved and justice seems to have slipped away. The verdict replays American sentiments at the OJ Simpson verdict. I still remember the collective gasp that OJ's acquital brought onto America. What was that twenty years ago? I still remember the CNN replays of Johnny Cochran's, " If it don't fit, you must acquit !" I suppose that in the case of the prosecutorial team, they just flat out did not present evidence that led the jury to render a verdict that left reasonable doubt in the rear view mirror. Beyond a reasonable doubt !!
Have you ever served on a jury? I have been the victim, uh, er...........I mean the chosen citizen charged with rendering a verdict on whether someone committed a crime or not, on four occassions. There is a lot of focus given to the fact that the prosecution and evidence must present a case that the accused is guilty " beyond a reasonable doubt." That means if there is one little whit inside you that is not convinced that the accused is guilty, it is your honor-bound duty to render a verdict of not guilty, beyond a reasonable doubt. That is what makes our judicial system stand muster.
This example does not stand as a reasonable comparable to the Anthony case. I will offer it just because it makes the case for what a state attorney must do to bring the guilty verdict. I was called to serve on a jury about 25 years ago. I was one of 6 jurists empanelled to determine the guilt of 2 FAMU football players who had switched the labels between a six-pack of Heinekens and a six-pack of Budweiser. The difference was 85 cents. Warehouse Foods convinced the state of Florida to go to the time and expense of trying these kids on theft charges to set a standard. I suppose they had reached the threshold of tolerance in a flurry of shop lifting in their store.
I and 5 others took two days to listen to the state make its case. We heard from the arresting officer, the store manager and countless other people who had seen these two thirsty young men do what the state was trying them on. At the end of the second day the defense attorney, Roosevelte Wilson, in his concluding defense argument, asked the state to produce the evidence. The judge then turned to the state's attorney and asked for them to produce the evidence. The state admitted that they were unable to produce the evidence. It had been removed from the evidence room by a thirsty bailiff or trustee of the sheriff's office and been consumed. The judge pounded his gavel and said " Since the state of Florida cannot produce the evidence then this case is dismissed." The jubilant accused and their defense attorney almost skipped out of the room.
I and my fellow jurors walked away scratching our heads pondering how a judicial system could allow such a waste of our time, courtroom time not to mention the cost to the court in such a case. The state's attorney must have known that the evidence was missing all along. Such is the state of affairs with our judical system.
Like it or not, our system bears the burden of proving guilt beyond any iota of doubt. It is far better for us to err on the side of a guilty person being freed on occassion than allowing an innocent person to lose their freedom or lose their life. Such is the system we live under. Less civilized countries presume your guilt. They then lop off your hands or your head sometimes on the weight of very flimsy evidence. Pardon me but I like our system better.
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