There comes a point in every boy's life when he comes to the realization that his parents aren't endless reservoirs of cash and that if he wants the new NBA Stars of Tomorrow Trapper Keeper, instead of the Lisa Frank one he picked up from the lost and found, he's gonna have to buy it himself. I came to that point in 6th grade and got a job.
It seems that every community/neighborhood has a little newspaper with some news about the community but it's basically just advertisements and coupons. It mainly just goes straight into people's trash containers. Ours was called the Good News paper and they needed someone to walk around the neighborhood, dropping the paper at people's doorsteps once a week. I was just the kid they were looking for.
The papers would be dropped off at our door and my job was to fold them, stuff them individually into plastic bags, and walk up and down two different streets, dropping them off on doorsteps. Seems pretty easy, right? I hated it. The whole process only took about 2.5 hours once a week but for those 2.5 hours, I was on somebody else's time, doing what they wanted me to do. Not even my bi-weekly check of $17 was enough to ease my hate. Battling the heat, cold, rain, and snow to deliver a paper that no one wanted was my own personal hell. But it did offer me a few life lessons. Here they are:
1. Never give more than just a passing glance into someone's window. One winter's evening, I was trudging along, earning my sweet paycheck when I stopped at a doorstep and noticed a guy walk by the front window. Naked. Full-on in the buff. He disappeared down a hallway while I stood there trying to discern if what I had just seen was real. I should have just kept walking, convincing myself that the cold was causing my rods and cones to misfire but I didn't move. Five seconds later he reversed course into my line of sight and sure enough, he was sans clothes. I got home and tried to lose myself in back-to-back episodes of Full House but the damage was done.
2. Always show dogs proper respect. I once saw a stray dog on the opposite side of the street and threw a snowball at it. I don't know why. I wasn't that kind of kid but for some reason that night, I thought it would be funny. I missed and continued on my route and forgetting my momentary lapse in judgement, made my way down the dog's side of the street. Unbeknownst to me, he had left a little "token of his appreciation" right on the sidewalk and covered it with snow, knowing I would be coming back that way. I stepped in it and knew immediately which dog had done it and that I deserved it. He's probably not still alive but if I ever see that dog again, I will give him a slight head nod that says "Well played, sir".
3. Never show your friends the $100 bill you found in a bush. This really happened. As I was walking up to a front door, something in the middle of a bush caught my eye. I reached in and pulled out a $100 bill. I couldn't believe it. It was as much as 3 months of my paychecks! I put it in my pocket and continued on my route. A few blocks down, I ran into a couple friends of mine playing basketball and excitedly showed them my windfall. Big mistake. My "friends" followed me along the remaining part of my route, hiding behind parked cars and getting closer by the minute. Luckily I made it home before they got me but to this day I am convinced they would have done me serious harm. $100 bucks split between two 12 year olds is enough incentive to get them to throw off all societal restraints to secure their small fortune.
4. Never lie to your parents and tell them you did your route unless you have a good hiding spot for your undelivered papers. I was invited to go to a friend's house one night but couldn't go until my route was done so I did what any "smart" middle schooler would do. I dumped all the papers in the garage behind my parents' car and stayed out there for about 20 minutes. I came in the house, pretending to be winded and asked my dad to drive me to my friend's house. "Did you really deliver your papers in 20 minutes?", my dad asked. "Yep. I ran the whole way, hence my obvious heavy breathing". My ruse lasted all of 30 seconds until my dad went to the garage. I didn't make it to my friend's house that night or any night for about a month. I think my dad felt slightly bad about grounding an imbecile but he did it nonetheless.
So take it from me. When your kids reach the age of being able to get a job, make them do it. They will learn all kinds of life lessons. I, for example, am not a peeping tom, a liar, or a boaster of money. And I'm kind to animals. Who knows what kind of weird life I'd be leading if it wasn't for that paper route.
Real Estate Note: Foreclosure inventory is down as the market recovers from the recession but they are still out there. If you're looking for a good investment, let me know and I can send you a list of foreclosed homes that match what you're looking for.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Monday, February 24, 2014
Childhood Stories #1
A couple of weeks ago, Jamie was telling me about something that happened at work and it reminded me of a story from my childhood. I don't remember what the story was because it happens all the time but as usual, Jamie got quite a kick out of it. In her mind, my childhood looked exactly like a Norman Rockwell painting or The Sandlot. She may very well be right. I spent my summers running around barefoot, shooting pretend bad guys throughout the neighborhood, playing baseball with the local kids, and basically doing anything I could to make sure my bath water at the end of the day was as dark as possible. My winters had less variety but essentially mirrored my summers in that I would do anything to stay outside. After the day's sledding got boring I would sit in my snow fort for hours, planning how I was going to avoid talking to girls the next day at school.
So, at my wife's insistence, I'm starting a "Childhood Stories" series. These stories may not come across as well as they do in person but if nothing else, I'll have them written down and saved. That way, if my kids are ever wondering "Did dad ever think that spinning around 50 times and then trying to run across the yard, thereby running sideways into his friend's parents' fancy gazebo and breaking the railing was a good idea?", they can look back at this and see that yes, yes he did.
I grew up in the days when you could run around your neighborhood with fake weapons and not have the neighbors lock their doors, draw the shades, and call the cops. While other kids were inside playing F-Zero on their Super Nintendo, I was running shirtless from back yard to back yard, protecting the block from nebulous groups of pretend bad guys who for some reason wished us harm. My main instrument of defense was my trusty lever-action rifle. After watching my Davy Crockett tape, I would grab my rifle and head outside to bring what I had just seen to life. I was able to pick off bad guys hiding in trees from a long range. If the there was a greater number of bad guys than my single shot rifle could handle, my sub-machine gun was my tool of choice. I usually only used it near dusk because it was kind of a pinkish-purple color and no self-respecting defender of the people wants to be seen with that color of a gun. When the bad guys brought out the heavy machinery (usually disguised as cars passing in front of our house) I brought out my Desert Storm tripod-mounted machine gun. I called it "The Schwarzkopf" because I heard that name associated with the Gulf War all the time. I thought it was some weapon that was inflicting huge damage and helping us win the war. In reality, I guess I was right.
Now, my limited knowledge and imagination could only take me so far during these skirmishes. My enemies were usually faceless, nameless, and in retrospect, not very good at their job. I won every time. I was never even wounded and the bad guys were all eliminated in 15 minutes or so. It was when I started playing with my friend Grant that things started to get serious.
Grant had lots of guns. He could make the correct noises for each gun with his mouth. He had tactics and hand motions that we could use to communicate with each other on the battlefield. He even put a name to the nameless bad guys I had been fighting for so long on my own. Commies. We weren't totally sure who they were or what they were all about but we watched enough Chuck Norris movies to know that they needed to be dealt with, usually in sleeveless t-shirts and with a random strip of black cloth tied around our heads. We didn't win without struggle, either. Every half hour or so, one of us would take a bullet to the leg, go down, and need to be dragged back to the base (the garage). A kitchen towel tourniquet would be applied, strategy discussed, Capri Sun slammed, and then we'd be back at it because everybody knows that commies only take a break for vodka. And we didn't have any to offer.
As the years went by, sports eventually took the place of combat and it's a shame. If Uncle Sam is ever invaded and calls on me, how am I going to tell him that I let all of my combat skills atrophy? I mean, if the skills necessary to defeat the invaders is the ability to throw a ball into a hoop or throw a smaller ball over a white plate, I can definitely be a contributor to the defense of the motherland. But I doubt that will be the case. So consider this my apology. I should have never forsaken my training and duty for other activities just because girls like athletes. I pray we don't regret it.
Real Estate Note: I held an open house this weekend at one of my listings and there was a bottleneck at the door. Seriously. People were lined up outside waiting to get in. There are huge numbers of buyers out there and not enough homes for sale. If you're thinking about selling, now is a great time. I would love to help you out.
So, at my wife's insistence, I'm starting a "Childhood Stories" series. These stories may not come across as well as they do in person but if nothing else, I'll have them written down and saved. That way, if my kids are ever wondering "Did dad ever think that spinning around 50 times and then trying to run across the yard, thereby running sideways into his friend's parents' fancy gazebo and breaking the railing was a good idea?", they can look back at this and see that yes, yes he did.
I grew up in the days when you could run around your neighborhood with fake weapons and not have the neighbors lock their doors, draw the shades, and call the cops. While other kids were inside playing F-Zero on their Super Nintendo, I was running shirtless from back yard to back yard, protecting the block from nebulous groups of pretend bad guys who for some reason wished us harm. My main instrument of defense was my trusty lever-action rifle. After watching my Davy Crockett tape, I would grab my rifle and head outside to bring what I had just seen to life. I was able to pick off bad guys hiding in trees from a long range. If the there was a greater number of bad guys than my single shot rifle could handle, my sub-machine gun was my tool of choice. I usually only used it near dusk because it was kind of a pinkish-purple color and no self-respecting defender of the people wants to be seen with that color of a gun. When the bad guys brought out the heavy machinery (usually disguised as cars passing in front of our house) I brought out my Desert Storm tripod-mounted machine gun. I called it "The Schwarzkopf" because I heard that name associated with the Gulf War all the time. I thought it was some weapon that was inflicting huge damage and helping us win the war. In reality, I guess I was right.
Now, my limited knowledge and imagination could only take me so far during these skirmishes. My enemies were usually faceless, nameless, and in retrospect, not very good at their job. I won every time. I was never even wounded and the bad guys were all eliminated in 15 minutes or so. It was when I started playing with my friend Grant that things started to get serious.
Grant had lots of guns. He could make the correct noises for each gun with his mouth. He had tactics and hand motions that we could use to communicate with each other on the battlefield. He even put a name to the nameless bad guys I had been fighting for so long on my own. Commies. We weren't totally sure who they were or what they were all about but we watched enough Chuck Norris movies to know that they needed to be dealt with, usually in sleeveless t-shirts and with a random strip of black cloth tied around our heads. We didn't win without struggle, either. Every half hour or so, one of us would take a bullet to the leg, go down, and need to be dragged back to the base (the garage). A kitchen towel tourniquet would be applied, strategy discussed, Capri Sun slammed, and then we'd be back at it because everybody knows that commies only take a break for vodka. And we didn't have any to offer.
As the years went by, sports eventually took the place of combat and it's a shame. If Uncle Sam is ever invaded and calls on me, how am I going to tell him that I let all of my combat skills atrophy? I mean, if the skills necessary to defeat the invaders is the ability to throw a ball into a hoop or throw a smaller ball over a white plate, I can definitely be a contributor to the defense of the motherland. But I doubt that will be the case. So consider this my apology. I should have never forsaken my training and duty for other activities just because girls like athletes. I pray we don't regret it.
Real Estate Note: I held an open house this weekend at one of my listings and there was a bottleneck at the door. Seriously. People were lined up outside waiting to get in. There are huge numbers of buyers out there and not enough homes for sale. If you're thinking about selling, now is a great time. I would love to help you out.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
A Most Valuable Lesson
If memory serves me correctly, I've blogged before about various sicknesses I've had (it's tough to remember since I haven't written anything since early 2012). I'm about to do it again, which will definitely shed some doubt on my view that I have a really strong immune system. Be that as it may, this winter has hit me hard. Colds, a stomach virus, and influenza have been Kermit Washington to my Rudy Tomjanovich. All of this brought out a side to my wife that I had never seen before. Allow me to elaborate.
I, like most men, tend to vocalize often how awful I feel when I am sick. Jamie calls it complaining but my (self-serving) theory is that us men are used to being in such peak physical condition that when we are sick, we feel it much more than women. Again, this is just a theory. Another explanation is that the sickness affects our brain in such a way that we revert back to our childhood and subconsciously need a mother-figure to be sympathetic, tend to our every need, and basically baby us. It seems the female brain is not similarly affected. This is probably the more logical explanation but I like my theory much more.
I started off the winter with a nasty cold. A pretty common thing but it hit me hard and I as usual, consistently let Jamie know how I felt. She was gracious, compassionate, and generally took care of me (albeit with some eye-rolling, seeing as how she had the same cold). Then came the stomach virus. This was only a 24 hour bug but it was the kind that during those 24 hours you can't get warm. Then you can't cool off. Standing up only brings a near-menopausal heat wave and vomiting. The only relief is your face in the toilet followed by laying on the cool bathroom floor while you long for the sweet release of death. That may be a little dramatic but you get the idea. Again, Jamie was compassionate and caring.
As a side note, she had to go to work that day so I was in charge of taking care of 15 month old Savannah. Savannah basically took care of herself. All I did was change some diapers (one of which sent me and my face to the aforementioned toilet) and lay on the couch. She was totally fine all day, all by herself. At one point, she came to me with a banana. She can't even reach the bananas! I'll never know how she did it but I peeled it, sent her on her way, and laid back down. I'd bet that if anything ever happened to Jamie and myself, Savannah would go on just fine, finally emerging from the house at age 5 to catch the school bus for kindergarten.
Then came another cold, the presence of which I verbally made Jamie well aware. I believe this is where the cracks in her "compassion armor" started to form. One night during this cold, I started to get muscle aches so bad that I couldn't sleep. I felt my temperature rising and I developed a cough that could wake the residents of the hospital's coma ward. I stayed home from the office the next day and when Jamie got home I mentioned to her that I felt like I was getting another virus on top of my cold and that I didn't think that was possible. Apparently, neither did she.
"Just go to bed then! I don't want to hear any more complaining!"
I had finally broken her. She no longer believed me. I had made mountains out of molehills one too many times. No matter how sick I was, I was going to be getting nothing from her.
The next night, after I had to stay home during the day again, she brought me a thermometer to check my temp. I can only describe her countenance as she did this as "emotionless". There was nothing behind her eyes. No compassion. No sympathy. Not even anger. Nothing. Not even when the thermometer read 101. I had used up her generous allotment of loving care and I was on my own.
My weeks-long vocalization of sickness had pushed her over the edge of compassion, care, and sympathy into the realm of apathy and even near-mockery.For example, when I had to cancel a showing with some clients of mine (and good friends of mine and Jamie's) the wife mentioned to Jamie that she was sorry I was sick.
Jamie responded "Yeah right. Sick." with air quotes around the word "sick". One of the best parts of her wonderful nature was broken and it was all my fault. But it was soon to be made right. The solution? A diagnosis.
During day 4 of my couch-ridden ordeal, Jamie was visiting her sisters who are both nurses. She was telling them about what she was having to put up with at home and describing my "symptoms". Her sisters knew right away what it was. Influenza. They told Jamie in fairly strong terms that this year's strain is nasty and that people of all ages have been dying from it, not just the very young and the very old. The hospitals have been filled to capacity with people suffering from it. Jamie's broken sense of compassion was instantly made whole. She came home, immediately apologized, and said that she would try to make it up to me.
I was vindicated! I should have felt great about it but I didn't. Instead, I reflected on the 2 lessons I had learned. One for each gender. Here they are:
Women: If your man is sick, he will whine and constantly talk about how bad he feels. Let him. Take care of him. But when the time comes when it is just too much whining to handle, make sure he's not deathly ill. Then ignore him. Your compassionate nature will stay intact and he may learn to handle sickness better.
Men: When you're sick, SHUT UP AND DEAL WITH IT LIKE A WOMAN!
Real Estate Note: If you're looking to sell, now is a great time. Buyers are coming out like crazy and there just aren't a whole lot of homes on the market to choose from. I have quite a few buyers I've been working with who can't seem to find what they're looking for or the houses they like have been sold before they have a chance to act. With buyers competing for your home, now is a great time to get top dollar. Let me know if I can help you.
I, like most men, tend to vocalize often how awful I feel when I am sick. Jamie calls it complaining but my (self-serving) theory is that us men are used to being in such peak physical condition that when we are sick, we feel it much more than women. Again, this is just a theory. Another explanation is that the sickness affects our brain in such a way that we revert back to our childhood and subconsciously need a mother-figure to be sympathetic, tend to our every need, and basically baby us. It seems the female brain is not similarly affected. This is probably the more logical explanation but I like my theory much more.
I started off the winter with a nasty cold. A pretty common thing but it hit me hard and I as usual, consistently let Jamie know how I felt. She was gracious, compassionate, and generally took care of me (albeit with some eye-rolling, seeing as how she had the same cold). Then came the stomach virus. This was only a 24 hour bug but it was the kind that during those 24 hours you can't get warm. Then you can't cool off. Standing up only brings a near-menopausal heat wave and vomiting. The only relief is your face in the toilet followed by laying on the cool bathroom floor while you long for the sweet release of death. That may be a little dramatic but you get the idea. Again, Jamie was compassionate and caring.
As a side note, she had to go to work that day so I was in charge of taking care of 15 month old Savannah. Savannah basically took care of herself. All I did was change some diapers (one of which sent me and my face to the aforementioned toilet) and lay on the couch. She was totally fine all day, all by herself. At one point, she came to me with a banana. She can't even reach the bananas! I'll never know how she did it but I peeled it, sent her on her way, and laid back down. I'd bet that if anything ever happened to Jamie and myself, Savannah would go on just fine, finally emerging from the house at age 5 to catch the school bus for kindergarten.
Then came another cold, the presence of which I verbally made Jamie well aware. I believe this is where the cracks in her "compassion armor" started to form. One night during this cold, I started to get muscle aches so bad that I couldn't sleep. I felt my temperature rising and I developed a cough that could wake the residents of the hospital's coma ward. I stayed home from the office the next day and when Jamie got home I mentioned to her that I felt like I was getting another virus on top of my cold and that I didn't think that was possible. Apparently, neither did she.
"Just go to bed then! I don't want to hear any more complaining!"
I had finally broken her. She no longer believed me. I had made mountains out of molehills one too many times. No matter how sick I was, I was going to be getting nothing from her.
The next night, after I had to stay home during the day again, she brought me a thermometer to check my temp. I can only describe her countenance as she did this as "emotionless". There was nothing behind her eyes. No compassion. No sympathy. Not even anger. Nothing. Not even when the thermometer read 101. I had used up her generous allotment of loving care and I was on my own.
My weeks-long vocalization of sickness had pushed her over the edge of compassion, care, and sympathy into the realm of apathy and even near-mockery.For example, when I had to cancel a showing with some clients of mine (and good friends of mine and Jamie's) the wife mentioned to Jamie that she was sorry I was sick.
Jamie responded "Yeah right. Sick." with air quotes around the word "sick". One of the best parts of her wonderful nature was broken and it was all my fault. But it was soon to be made right. The solution? A diagnosis.
During day 4 of my couch-ridden ordeal, Jamie was visiting her sisters who are both nurses. She was telling them about what she was having to put up with at home and describing my "symptoms". Her sisters knew right away what it was. Influenza. They told Jamie in fairly strong terms that this year's strain is nasty and that people of all ages have been dying from it, not just the very young and the very old. The hospitals have been filled to capacity with people suffering from it. Jamie's broken sense of compassion was instantly made whole. She came home, immediately apologized, and said that she would try to make it up to me.
I was vindicated! I should have felt great about it but I didn't. Instead, I reflected on the 2 lessons I had learned. One for each gender. Here they are:
Women: If your man is sick, he will whine and constantly talk about how bad he feels. Let him. Take care of him. But when the time comes when it is just too much whining to handle, make sure he's not deathly ill. Then ignore him. Your compassionate nature will stay intact and he may learn to handle sickness better.
Men: When you're sick, SHUT UP AND DEAL WITH IT LIKE A WOMAN!
Real Estate Note: If you're looking to sell, now is a great time. Buyers are coming out like crazy and there just aren't a whole lot of homes on the market to choose from. I have quite a few buyers I've been working with who can't seem to find what they're looking for or the houses they like have been sold before they have a chance to act. With buyers competing for your home, now is a great time to get top dollar. Let me know if I can help you.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Pass the Pepto, Please
So, my wife is pregnant. Full on, no-mistake-about-it, pregnant. I'm actually pretty nervous about it. Not the whole "being a dad" part. I think that part will come pretty easily. My job will be fairly simple regardless of the kid's gender.
If we have a boy, my job will consist of:
1. Chucking baseballs at him until he figures out how to catch them. His pro baseball salary will pay for my retirement cabin on the lake.
2. Telling him not to eat his boogers. Pick 'em then flick 'em. We gotta stay classy.
3. Showing him how to fish. There's nothing the ladies love more than a guy who smells like fish guts.
If we have a girl, my job will be:
1. Spoiling her.
2. Telling her, "Go ask your mom", when she's old enough to have "lady questions".
3. Constantly ridiculing whoever is her generation's Justin Bieber.
No, I'm not worried about any of that. I'm worried about the actual birth. How am I going to make it through that? All the blood and things of that nature, the screaming, the crying. I'm getting queasy just writing about it. I have a friend who recently hit his finger with a hammer and he showed it to me the day it happened. It wasn't bleeding anymore but it was swelled up and purple. But I knew that it had previously been bleeding and it so unnerved me that I had to sit down. Now multiply that swollen finger by a million.
I asked Jamie if it would be possible for me to be in another room while she gives birth. Nope. I don't know why she gets the final say in the matter. She'll be in so much pain and agony that she won't even notice all the "birthing stuff" that will be making my tummy queasy. She can be so selfish.
So I made a compromise with her, agreeing to be in the room and hold her hand but I will be allowed to stand with my nose against the wall. Am I going to look ridiculous? Yes, but I will look less ridiculous than if I pass out, hitting the doctor's lap with my face on the way down.
Real Estate Note: The housing market in Dane County is really heating up. In February of this year, there were 140% more homes sold than in February of 2011. A major reason is the affordability of homes, due to the historically low interest rates and low home prices. If you are looking to buy, now is the time.
If we have a boy, my job will consist of:
1. Chucking baseballs at him until he figures out how to catch them. His pro baseball salary will pay for my retirement cabin on the lake.
2. Telling him not to eat his boogers. Pick 'em then flick 'em. We gotta stay classy.
3. Showing him how to fish. There's nothing the ladies love more than a guy who smells like fish guts.
If we have a girl, my job will be:
1. Spoiling her.
2. Telling her, "Go ask your mom", when she's old enough to have "lady questions".
3. Constantly ridiculing whoever is her generation's Justin Bieber.
No, I'm not worried about any of that. I'm worried about the actual birth. How am I going to make it through that? All the blood and things of that nature, the screaming, the crying. I'm getting queasy just writing about it. I have a friend who recently hit his finger with a hammer and he showed it to me the day it happened. It wasn't bleeding anymore but it was swelled up and purple. But I knew that it had previously been bleeding and it so unnerved me that I had to sit down. Now multiply that swollen finger by a million.
I asked Jamie if it would be possible for me to be in another room while she gives birth. Nope. I don't know why she gets the final say in the matter. She'll be in so much pain and agony that she won't even notice all the "birthing stuff" that will be making my tummy queasy. She can be so selfish.
So I made a compromise with her, agreeing to be in the room and hold her hand but I will be allowed to stand with my nose against the wall. Am I going to look ridiculous? Yes, but I will look less ridiculous than if I pass out, hitting the doctor's lap with my face on the way down.
Real Estate Note: The housing market in Dane County is really heating up. In February of this year, there were 140% more homes sold than in February of 2011. A major reason is the affordability of homes, due to the historically low interest rates and low home prices. If you are looking to buy, now is the time.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Slightly Embarrassed. But Not Really
Everybody has "guilty pleasure" songs. Everybody. Don't act like you don't. I know quite a few hipsters who will talk all day about how Bob Dylan is the greatest American musician of all time (Great poet. Absolutely awful singer. Nails-on-a-chalkboard bad) and how they were fans of the Decemberists before they were popular but can't stand U2 because they are too mainstream. But if The Sign by Ace of Base comes on the radio while they are in the car, you can expect a scene like this:
Like I said, everybody has guilty pleasure songs. That is why I don't feel embarrassed sharing mine. Here are my top 5:
1. My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dion
I think this song gets a bad rap due to the fact that it was massively overplayed when Titanic was causing women to consider leaving their husbands to take a full-time job stalking Leonardo DiCaprio. But it is still a great song and every time I hear the pan flute at the beginning, I subtly turn the radio up and prepare myself for the four and a half minute emotional rollercoaster ride that I am about to embark upon.
2. Rock Your Body - Justin Timberlake
The only song that might get my uncoordinated, Scandinavian self out on the dance floor. In fact, I have a friend who was pursuing a girl and I told him that if he ever won her over, I would grab a cd player, let myself into his house, put this song on, and we would dance our faces off. All without saying a word. Kinda weird? Yes, but it would have been awesome. Sadly, it didn't happen.
3. Another Night - Real McCoy
Nineties dance music still blows away all the lame pop music out there today even though all of it followed basically the same formula: woman singing most of the song with a sort of creepy, deep-voiced guy sprinkled in. It always reminds me of being in middle school and boxing with my buddy in his basement. There was only one pair of boxing gloves so we each had only one. It worked out well because I am left-handed so I naturally took the left one and we wailed on each other. For some reason, we had dance music playing.
4. Don't Stop Believing - Journey
This song has actually gone through a popularity resurgence in recent years but I include it as a guilty pleasure because when it fades back to lameness in the collective mind of the public, I am still going to love it and anonymously request it at wedding receptions.
5. Time of My Life - Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes
In my defense, I wasn't a fan of Dirty Dancing. Patrick Swayze had this strange earnestness that creeped me out and Jennifer Grey always looked like a deer in headlights but this song sure was awesome. I was once riding in the car with my wife and mother in law and fell asleep in the backseat. I was out for only about 3 minutes but during those few minutes I dreamed that I sang this song in a duet with some girl. There was a crowd of about 500 and they were going nuts. It's one of only two dreams I've had that I actually remember and is the best one by far.
So those are my top 5 guilty pleasure songs. What are yours?
Real Estate Note: Due to low home prices and near-record low interest rates, the National Association of Realtors Housing Affordability Index hit 193.6 in October, near its record high. If you are renting right now, you could own a house and be paying less monthly than you currently are in rent. I'm going to keep bringing this up until it is no longer the perfect time to buy. Click here to see the full monthly housing affordability index:Affordability Index
Like I said, everybody has guilty pleasure songs. That is why I don't feel embarrassed sharing mine. Here are my top 5:
1. My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dion
I think this song gets a bad rap due to the fact that it was massively overplayed when Titanic was causing women to consider leaving their husbands to take a full-time job stalking Leonardo DiCaprio. But it is still a great song and every time I hear the pan flute at the beginning, I subtly turn the radio up and prepare myself for the four and a half minute emotional rollercoaster ride that I am about to embark upon.
2. Rock Your Body - Justin Timberlake
The only song that might get my uncoordinated, Scandinavian self out on the dance floor. In fact, I have a friend who was pursuing a girl and I told him that if he ever won her over, I would grab a cd player, let myself into his house, put this song on, and we would dance our faces off. All without saying a word. Kinda weird? Yes, but it would have been awesome. Sadly, it didn't happen.
3. Another Night - Real McCoy
Nineties dance music still blows away all the lame pop music out there today even though all of it followed basically the same formula: woman singing most of the song with a sort of creepy, deep-voiced guy sprinkled in. It always reminds me of being in middle school and boxing with my buddy in his basement. There was only one pair of boxing gloves so we each had only one. It worked out well because I am left-handed so I naturally took the left one and we wailed on each other. For some reason, we had dance music playing.
4. Don't Stop Believing - Journey
This song has actually gone through a popularity resurgence in recent years but I include it as a guilty pleasure because when it fades back to lameness in the collective mind of the public, I am still going to love it and anonymously request it at wedding receptions.
5. Time of My Life - Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes
In my defense, I wasn't a fan of Dirty Dancing. Patrick Swayze had this strange earnestness that creeped me out and Jennifer Grey always looked like a deer in headlights but this song sure was awesome. I was once riding in the car with my wife and mother in law and fell asleep in the backseat. I was out for only about 3 minutes but during those few minutes I dreamed that I sang this song in a duet with some girl. There was a crowd of about 500 and they were going nuts. It's one of only two dreams I've had that I actually remember and is the best one by far.
So those are my top 5 guilty pleasure songs. What are yours?
Real Estate Note: Due to low home prices and near-record low interest rates, the National Association of Realtors Housing Affordability Index hit 193.6 in October, near its record high. If you are renting right now, you could own a house and be paying less monthly than you currently are in rent. I'm going to keep bringing this up until it is no longer the perfect time to buy. Click here to see the full monthly housing affordability index:Affordability Index
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
You Won't Leave Empty-Handed
There is one day of the year when it is socially acceptable to wait in line for hours for a store to open (You hear that, gamers? Only one day). That one day is Black Friday, which is descending upon us in a couple days. I've never actually ventured out to any stores on Black Friday but I have heard plenty of horror stories of people not being able to get what they came to buy or worse, being trampled. In order to help you get what you came for on Friday, I've come up with some methods that will ensure your success (I can't prevent you from being trampled other than telling you not to be at the front of the line) and make sure your loved ones get this year's hot fads. Let's jump right in.
1. Physical Violence: This one is simple. If you see someone snatching up the last copy of season 2 of Glee, just give 'em a right hook straight to the kisser. If you act quickly, you can snatch up the prize and head to the register before they even know what happened. Another factor working in your favor is the absolute chaos and pandemonium of Black Friday. If the punch doesn't land as true as you had hoped, tackle a random shopper and yell "Got 'em!". Since no one was able to definitively peg you as the puncher, you are instantly the hero. I'm not going to promise anything, but the appreciative management may let you into the stock room in back to shop in peace.
2. Employee Uniforms: Have one for every store you are going to on Friday. This will allow you access to anywhere in the store. Don't see any more Blu-Ray players on the shelves in Best Buy? Head into the stock room. Can't find the latest knockoff Gucci purse at K-Mart? Raid the layaway department. Just make sure to bring a different shirt to put on before heading to check out your items. An employee spending their time shopping on the busiest day of the year is sure to raise some eyebrows.
3. Teamwork: If you are a guy, have your wife or sister (actually, any willing woman will suffice) yell "Ryan Gosling!" followed by frantic screams as she runs towards the front of the store, pretending to chase him into the parking lot. This will cut the crowd down by 75%. You and the other men will be free to roam the store unencumbered. If you are a woman, your male teammate should follow nearly the same script, with "Ryan Gosling" changed to the name of your local sports star. It is absolutely vital that your "team" consists of both genders. For example, it is not believable as a woman for your female teammate to run while yelling Ryan Gosling's name without you following close behind. He is apparently that good looking.
4. Shop Online: I could've started and ended with this one but that wouldn't be any fun.
Real Estate Note: The housing market is heading upward and the media is finally starting to catch on. Here is some good news from CNN Money: Home Sales Rise in October
1. Physical Violence: This one is simple. If you see someone snatching up the last copy of season 2 of Glee, just give 'em a right hook straight to the kisser. If you act quickly, you can snatch up the prize and head to the register before they even know what happened. Another factor working in your favor is the absolute chaos and pandemonium of Black Friday. If the punch doesn't land as true as you had hoped, tackle a random shopper and yell "Got 'em!". Since no one was able to definitively peg you as the puncher, you are instantly the hero. I'm not going to promise anything, but the appreciative management may let you into the stock room in back to shop in peace.
2. Employee Uniforms: Have one for every store you are going to on Friday. This will allow you access to anywhere in the store. Don't see any more Blu-Ray players on the shelves in Best Buy? Head into the stock room. Can't find the latest knockoff Gucci purse at K-Mart? Raid the layaway department. Just make sure to bring a different shirt to put on before heading to check out your items. An employee spending their time shopping on the busiest day of the year is sure to raise some eyebrows.
3. Teamwork: If you are a guy, have your wife or sister (actually, any willing woman will suffice) yell "Ryan Gosling!" followed by frantic screams as she runs towards the front of the store, pretending to chase him into the parking lot. This will cut the crowd down by 75%. You and the other men will be free to roam the store unencumbered. If you are a woman, your male teammate should follow nearly the same script, with "Ryan Gosling" changed to the name of your local sports star. It is absolutely vital that your "team" consists of both genders. For example, it is not believable as a woman for your female teammate to run while yelling Ryan Gosling's name without you following close behind. He is apparently that good looking.
4. Shop Online: I could've started and ended with this one but that wouldn't be any fun.
Real Estate Note: The housing market is heading upward and the media is finally starting to catch on. Here is some good news from CNN Money: Home Sales Rise in October
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
My Wife Is Fascinating
Sometimes my wife surprises the living daylights out of me. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of meeting her, she is a short, petite southern belle who loves scrapbooking, tea parties, and fashion blogs. She is a bubbly breath of fresh air when everyone else is being "Negative Nancies". The only time I ever heard her burp, a rainbow flew out of her mouth and she just giggled as she skipped away to go cheer up a sick unicorn. She loves Otis Redding and can quote the entire script of the Notebook without thinking. She lets me watch football at home on Sundays even though she hates "the violent sounds" of it and when I'm sick, she tends to all my stupid whinings and wants without rolling her eyes. She wears a sunhat. Knowing all of this about her, I am surprised when she does something that I think doesn't fall in line with my perception of her. Here a couple of examples.
Once, when we were dating, we were hanging out at her house, trying to think of something to do and she suggested that we go outside and shoot some hoops. I hesitated for a moment, thinking about how lame it would be when we had to stand no more than two feet from the basket so she could at least get the ball up to the hoop and I would have to say "Oooh, so close" every time she took a shot. I said yes because as a guy in a dating relationship, "Yes" is the answer to every one of the girl's suggestions. All you single guys need to take note of this. It is very important:
"Hey babe, do you want to have a picnic in a field of daisies, eat brie and crackers, and journal about our feelings for each other on pieces of parchment that we can bind together with wax that has been melted with a candle that we will light together, signifying the light and heat of our unity?"
"Yes."
See how easy that is? Don't put up a fight. If you do, she will be hurt and you will be back to spending your time playing Call of Duty, talking smack to 12-year olds while you wait for E-harmony to find another match for you. Anyway, we went outside and began to shoot hoops. We started playing H.O.R.S.E. and I quickly found myself worried about losing. She had the best shooting form I had ever seen! I couldn't shake her. I resorted to trick shots, such as shooting from a window on the second floor of the house. I made it and so did she. Luckily, I won (barely) but the game took forever. We haven't played since.
Another surprise came just a few years ago. A friend of mine was the lead "singer" of a scream-metal band and said I should come to one of their shows on a certain Friday night. Jamie and I had planned on going on a date that night so I asked her if it would be alright if we just stopped in and checked out a song or two before carrying on with our date. She said that would be fine and we showed up right as my friend's band was getting started. The place was tiny and the music reverberated through our heads like a jackhammer. My buddy was on the stage, screaming into the microphone as if the microphone had wronged him in the most heinous way possible as people thrashed around, throwing themselves into each other and making me nervous. If someone had slammed into Jamie, I would've felt like the lowest of the low for bringing her in there. I can't verify this, but I think I saw a cat being sacrificed in the back corner. It was an absolutely crazy scene. After the second song, I looked at Jamie with a look that said "I am infinitely sorry. Let's get out of here". She just smiled at me and yelled "This is pretty cool! Let's stay until the end". What?!!? If you brought a flower within 100 ft. of this place, it would've wilted and disappeared in a puff of smoke and dust. Yet here she was, taking it all in and having a great time. She won't watch Die Hard with me because it is too violent but if you invite her to a death-metal show complete with blood and fear, she'll ask "What time?"
She is completely and utterly fascinating.
Real Estate Note: I recently showed a house that had laundry everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. It looked like 3,298 people were in the house before being abducted out of their clothes by aliens. Needless to say, my buyers quickly scratched the house off their list. If you are thinking about selling your home and want it to look enticing to buyers, check out these cheap ways to make it look great:
6 Cheap Ways to Stage Your Home
Once, when we were dating, we were hanging out at her house, trying to think of something to do and she suggested that we go outside and shoot some hoops. I hesitated for a moment, thinking about how lame it would be when we had to stand no more than two feet from the basket so she could at least get the ball up to the hoop and I would have to say "Oooh, so close" every time she took a shot. I said yes because as a guy in a dating relationship, "Yes" is the answer to every one of the girl's suggestions. All you single guys need to take note of this. It is very important:
"Hey babe, do you want to have a picnic in a field of daisies, eat brie and crackers, and journal about our feelings for each other on pieces of parchment that we can bind together with wax that has been melted with a candle that we will light together, signifying the light and heat of our unity?"
"Yes."
See how easy that is? Don't put up a fight. If you do, she will be hurt and you will be back to spending your time playing Call of Duty, talking smack to 12-year olds while you wait for E-harmony to find another match for you. Anyway, we went outside and began to shoot hoops. We started playing H.O.R.S.E. and I quickly found myself worried about losing. She had the best shooting form I had ever seen! I couldn't shake her. I resorted to trick shots, such as shooting from a window on the second floor of the house. I made it and so did she. Luckily, I won (barely) but the game took forever. We haven't played since.
Another surprise came just a few years ago. A friend of mine was the lead "singer" of a scream-metal band and said I should come to one of their shows on a certain Friday night. Jamie and I had planned on going on a date that night so I asked her if it would be alright if we just stopped in and checked out a song or two before carrying on with our date. She said that would be fine and we showed up right as my friend's band was getting started. The place was tiny and the music reverberated through our heads like a jackhammer. My buddy was on the stage, screaming into the microphone as if the microphone had wronged him in the most heinous way possible as people thrashed around, throwing themselves into each other and making me nervous. If someone had slammed into Jamie, I would've felt like the lowest of the low for bringing her in there. I can't verify this, but I think I saw a cat being sacrificed in the back corner. It was an absolutely crazy scene. After the second song, I looked at Jamie with a look that said "I am infinitely sorry. Let's get out of here". She just smiled at me and yelled "This is pretty cool! Let's stay until the end". What?!!? If you brought a flower within 100 ft. of this place, it would've wilted and disappeared in a puff of smoke and dust. Yet here she was, taking it all in and having a great time. She won't watch Die Hard with me because it is too violent but if you invite her to a death-metal show complete with blood and fear, she'll ask "What time?"
She is completely and utterly fascinating.
Real Estate Note: I recently showed a house that had laundry everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. It looked like 3,298 people were in the house before being abducted out of their clothes by aliens. Needless to say, my buyers quickly scratched the house off their list. If you are thinking about selling your home and want it to look enticing to buyers, check out these cheap ways to make it look great:
6 Cheap Ways to Stage Your Home
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