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| Being part of a truly lousy real estate sandwich... |
| 06.18.09 (8:31 am) [edit] |
Good morning Boys and Girls.This is a true story. It happened just yesterday. First of all, the morning before yesterday, I woke up with a bum left ankle. No idea what I did, but it hurts when I walk. Maybe it was something as simple as hyper-extending it while stretching during my drive home from Iowa - but that's just a guess. In any case, I've been limping badly for two days. Thankfully, it feels a little better this morning. So, yesterday, when I stopped by one of my accounts, I dropped off some vinyl boat letters for the sales manager. He'd emailed me while I was in Des Moines last week, sending along an attached photo of a little boat he bought for his family so I could see the style and color of the lettering he asked me to try to match. No biggie - just the registration numbers; a three minute job here on my computer. I said I could do it but that I wouldn't be back in town 'til Tuesday, and that I'd drop them off by Wednesday; yesterday; which is my usual day to stop by his place anyway. I limped into his office, gave him the lettering and suffered a couple minutes of good natured teasing from him and a couple of salesmen who were sitting in there with him. One of the guys said I reminded him of Walter Brennon as Grandpa McCoy on"The Real McCoys". I agreed, remembering the character fondly, but the other guys in the office were far too young to remember the series and they started in on both of us about being older than dirt. After a couple minutes of banter, I limped out to the lot to see what work they had for me. I made my list then slowly made my way back toward the showroom to see which of the jobs I'd found for myself were ones they wanted me to do. When I came around the corner I found the sales manager on the front porch of the showroom speaking to the owner. I walked up and heard him say, "I swear, sometimes I want to moon the cameras!" The owner, who was just being paged, shook his head sympathetically and quickly turned to go back inside. "What was that about?", I asked Craig. "It's nuts", he said, "Next door to the property where my family's cottage is - which has been in the family since before I was born - there's a child molester." "Oh man," I said. "That sucks." "Yeah, he was a dentist here in town and and about ten years ago he got convicted of all kinds of stuff. He was writing up prescriptions for Oxycontin for little boys, somehow luring them and plying them with whatever he could, and then... well, banging them." "Oh jeez. That awful." "So, somehow he got out of jail a few months ago and now he's living at his cottage - next to mine - and they've set up security cameras along the perimeter of his property to keep tabs on him during his paraole. I guess I'm glad they're there, but we hate having the cameras on all the time. I mean, it's our COTTAGE." "Oh Craig. You must be worried sick." "Well, no. Not really. I've got little girls. He likes little boys, so I'm not THAT worried, but, yeah, it still sucks." I too shook my head sympathetically. By now a couple of salesmen had ambled up and were listening to our conversation. They'd obviously heard the story already. "Man, I can't imagine dealing with that," I said. Then he added, "So get this: I've got this guy on one side, and on the other side is a Catholic Priest." My mind whirled and for some reason, I retorted, "yeah, but that's okay. You've got little girls". And as we all processed the horrible thing I'd said reactively, we all started groaning, then slowly we all started laughing; then laughing harder, if uncomfortably; each of us feeling terrible about what had been said and the possible truth it implied, even if that had gone unsaid. It was truly funny, and sad... and, of course, extremely sick. Be good to everyone. |
| Hell yessss, I can do it. Just stand back and see! |
| 06.16.09 (9:12 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. Can't say I'm especially awake right now. I left Des Moines about 4:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon and got home at 2:30 a.m., then forced myself to get up around 7:00 to start on a couple of projects, so I certainly didn't get enough sleep to keep me beautiful, but I'm thinking I can get away with it since I've already accomplished more in the last hour and a half than I'd expected to, (and since I'm already so stunningly handsome that missing a little beauty rest won't hurt me), so I thought I'd take a few minutes to write a post. I listened to a couple of pretty good audio books this last week, both at work and on the trips back and forth to Iowa. A joke in one of them has stayed with me for a few days and provided me more than a few chuckles, as I've thought about various stories I've heard about or read about over the years, and then imagined applying the punch line to the situations... What's the last thing a redneck says before he dies? Watch this! By now, I'm sure most folks around here have heard of the Darwin Awards, but if not, check out the website sometime. It's a humorous site, or at least it is if you're in the right frame of mind; its premise being the documentation of the incredibly dumb things certain people do to get themselves killed, thus eliminating their D.N.A. from the collective human gene pool forever. I went to the Darwin Awards site again a few days ago after hearing this goofy joke and found myself inserting two words of dialog before reading each new story. I simply mentally added, "Watch this!" to the beginning of each synopsis. Hey, I never said I was especially bright myself. I'm just hoping that if I ever manage to get myself offed in some crazy way, it isn't because I'm doing something on a dare, or deliberately showing off - and that the circumstances of my demise are too mundane to justify any mention whatsoever by the Darwin people. Besides, I've already passed on my genes to the extent I ever will, so mentioning me accidentally electrocuting myself (by, say, trying to enjoy a relaxing breakfast in the tub and having the toaster slip off the rim and into the water with me), would be pointless, wouldn't it? Be good to everyone. |
| Roomies? Hmmm. Maybe. What the heck. |
| 06.03.09 (7:52 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. First off, as I've mentioned before, I write these posts in the Yahoo email composer, then send them to myself before I post 'em to avoid losing stuff. Well, Yahoo has changed the email system for the umpteenth time, and now, as I type this, there's a a cartoon-ish picture of a guy in a purple vest and glasses about to take a newspaper from a dog that covers the left side of the composer window. It's disconcerting and annoying and I have no idea how to remove it. Neither do I have any idea what it's supposed to signify, or what the purpose could possibly be, but I don't like it at all. Bad idea, Yahoo. I've been considering taking on a roommate or two for some time now. For one thing, it would allow my friends Dot and AuntConi to stop having to come out here to feed Roadie every day or two when I'm in Iowa, and, of course, the rent they'd pay would be a welcome addition to the household kitty as well. On the other hand, I've been leery to invite a stranger into the house. I mean, geez, what if they decide to steal all my valuable antiques or the millions of dollars I keep under my mattress? Oh, wait, I don't have any valuable antiques, or any money whatsoever hidden in the house. I suppose they could get pissed off and spray paint graffiti on the walls, or do some damage to the carpet, but that's about it. Unless I'm unlucky enough to run across an ax murderer, except for strains created by our interactions, I wouldn't worry too much about what they'd do to the house, and if I go through with this, I will be careful. I've had both good and bad experiences renting to people before, and I've learned my lessons. On the other hand, my experiences have always been in renting houses I've owned to for others to occupy by themselves. I haven't interviewed a potential roommate since 1975 when, while living in Kalamazoo, the four of us who already lived there in a big-old former frat-house went through the process of replacing our fifth roomie who was leaving us to move in with his girlfriend. Seems to me we talked to a half-dozen people before we decided on a guy named Bill, who, in the end, worked out just fine and remained in the house long after I left a year later. Last night I exchanged emails with a girl in her twenties, who along with her long-term significant other and their cat, are looking for a place starting in August. She's a grad student who's starting her Doctoral program in January and he works about forty-five miles north of here in Big Rapids. Right now they live in an apartment in a little town called Cedar Springs which is about eight miles from here. The very questions she posed made me feel pretty good, and I look forward to meeting them. I like the fact they're not in a hurry and have been patient to find the right situation for them. And I especially like that they've already fulfilled their lease and are now month to month in the apartment, but have to give a sixty day notice to their landlord before moving, and that they plan to fulfill that obligation as well. Don't know if it'll work out, but man oh man, it would be nice not to have to ask Dot or AuntConi to have to come out here every day or three to check on Roadie when I'm gone. It'll be interesting. Be good to everyone. |
Cost of the War in Iraq
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American Deaths in Iraq:
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