I'm sitting at the Birmingham International Airport at some horrid hour waiting for my flight. It is the only non-stop to Phoenix today. In fact, this flight--any day of the week--is the only non-stop. So, no matter which day I had picked, I would be here way too early to be civilized.
This trip was productive, in the sense I got the main things accomplished that I wanted to get done. I saw Attorney Jon, which was absolutely imperative. I hadn't realized how much the scary-legal thing Attorney Jon is handling had been weighing on me. His visit alone was absolutely worth this trip.
I also got to sit in a very hard, wooden chair Friday for longer than I was anticipating, all the while answering repetitive questions. I don't know if I will ever be able to blog about the trial. It is still going on. There is a young child involved and the judge suggested it was in my best interest not to discuss it. So, unless your name is the same as Legal Eagle's, I would prefer not to go back to the courthouse. And, more importantly, I would prefer not to visit the detention center next door, thankyouverymuch.
My first ever courtroom experience wasn't the concise 60 minute episode one sees on Perry Mason or LA Law. John Grisham never wrote about these kind of courtroom antics--it reminded me of a pre-teen slumber party where some girl's feelings get hurt and the ensuing drama that follows. Think four different parties: all PMSy women lawyers with Southern drawls and one male judge who seemed to be on his last nerve. And, let's not forget one furious former tenant who would not look me in the eye--even though I stared right at her.
Soon I will be on my plane, heading home to Marty Sunshine, Polly and Buckaroo. And though this may not make much sense to you dear readers, please let me tell you this anyway: me saying Polly coming into this world was a true miracle and Buckaroo is a kind and generous soul is not ultra-personal information about my life. No matter if some lawyer with really hurt feelings suggests it is.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Surviving
Have you ever seen those shows on the sweaty macho cable channels with the guy who is trying to survive in the wilderness? To my knowledge, there are two such programs. One guy goes out into these relatively plausible scenarios: places where it is possible for someone to get lost and survives for seven days without human contact. He films everything himself and talks about real dangers that might exist in the given circumstances.
When he did his show on the Arizona desert, his posted location was about 30 miles north of Phoenix, near the Gila or Verde river and the show was filmed in February. One of his "dangers" was the desert gets down to 40 degrees. He also kept referring to the wild "peccories" (we know them as javalinas--and they are pretty darn harmless).
The other guy takes a location and talks about survival skills for a given scenario. He has a film crew, a catering staff and sleeps in a production trailer at night. On one of his shows he also spent time in the Arizona desert and managed to show footage of him being chased by rattlesnake. The only rattlesnake in existence that actually followed someone for any great distance.
What I really would like to see is a survival show for business travelers. These two guys could have a field day talking about what to do when trapped at the airport with cranky toddlers and weather delays. They could bring up survival situations on how to throw a meal together with leftover Zaxby's chicken wings, an orange and an Otis Spunkmeir oatmeal cookie from the hotel lobby.
If they needed more drama, they could explain how to get out of awkward situations, when at the hotel fitness center, the creepy guy on the treadmill next to yours thinks you are checking him out, when all you are doing is glancing at the clock over his head. And of course, they certainly would want to do a segment on how to wash out the stain on the once cream-colored shirt using a combination of the hotel shampoo and soap.
Most people don't get lost in the Golbi desert, or out to sea, or in the jungles of Borneo. More often than not, they get stuck at some hotel, away from their loved ones and very lonely, wishing they could be home.
That is real survival.
When he did his show on the Arizona desert, his posted location was about 30 miles north of Phoenix, near the Gila or Verde river and the show was filmed in February. One of his "dangers" was the desert gets down to 40 degrees. He also kept referring to the wild "peccories" (we know them as javalinas--and they are pretty darn harmless).
The other guy takes a location and talks about survival skills for a given scenario. He has a film crew, a catering staff and sleeps in a production trailer at night. On one of his shows he also spent time in the Arizona desert and managed to show footage of him being chased by rattlesnake. The only rattlesnake in existence that actually followed someone for any great distance.
What I really would like to see is a survival show for business travelers. These two guys could have a field day talking about what to do when trapped at the airport with cranky toddlers and weather delays. They could bring up survival situations on how to throw a meal together with leftover Zaxby's chicken wings, an orange and an Otis Spunkmeir oatmeal cookie from the hotel lobby.
If they needed more drama, they could explain how to get out of awkward situations, when at the hotel fitness center, the creepy guy on the treadmill next to yours thinks you are checking him out, when all you are doing is glancing at the clock over his head. And of course, they certainly would want to do a segment on how to wash out the stain on the once cream-colored shirt using a combination of the hotel shampoo and soap.
Most people don't get lost in the Golbi desert, or out to sea, or in the jungles of Borneo. More often than not, they get stuck at some hotel, away from their loved ones and very lonely, wishing they could be home.
That is real survival.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
A Tale of Two Aries
The purpose of my Alabama visit, as anyone who reads this blog on a quasi-regular basis knows, is that I was given an engraved invitation, courtesy of the Alabama courts. I have every intention to write about this once it is all over.
I am not teasing, though I have to tell you, I am not sure how much I will be able to disclose. This is a sensitive matter and the results of this case might bring more trouble down the line for the people in question. I will tell you this: it is a civil case. It involves a former tenant.
At 10 a.m., Wednesday, I had gotten a phone call I had been expecting since I arrived. It was a lovely woman with a Southern drawlasking telling me to show up by 11:30 at the courthouse and share what I knew with the Honorable Judge and the merry band of lawyers. And by the way, this particular courthouse and the detention center next door are in a neighborhood of Birmingham that makes the war-torn sections of the Middle East look like Disneyland.
I got to the courthouse and a few minutes later Carolsue breezed by as well. You see, she had also received a subpoena. But, the witness in front of us was taking a bit longer than necessary (like seven hours longer). So, they sent Carolsue to a cute little conference room and they put me out on the hard wooden bench in the waiting room.
Meanwhile, I had a seriously pissed off former tenant who would have charred us if her super-power had been fire breathing. On Wednesday, my super-power had more to do with the bad stomach cramps, from my chicken sandwich.
So there we were, me with undigested poisoned chicken, nothing to drink and Carolsue jonesing for another cigarette. And, I will also tell you, every so often, I would make suggestions as to how she could improve her karma--just because it took my mind off my poor tummy. She in turn would bite my head off and we would go back to our respective AARP magazines for another five minutes.
Carolsue was called in as a witness at 5:08 p.m. I believe she sprinted into the courtroom in record time--just to get away from me. Though most courts end around 4:30ish, this one was not. She was there an hour, giving me ample time to walk the halls, deal with my food posioning and repeatedly text Bliz and Legal Eagle.
All along I was maintaining (and Carolsue and Marty can confirm), that I am not going to testify. Denial is powerful, yet totally useless. But here I was--since 10 a.m., and I hadn't taken the stand. After Carolsue there was a surprise witness and then the judge called it a night. I didn't testify. But I did sit with Crabbysue for six hours. That is a trial untoitself.
My court appearance is now scheduled for Friday. First thing. This time I am bringing a bottle of water, a book and my own snacks. Though I am still into denial I will be testifying.
I am not teasing, though I have to tell you, I am not sure how much I will be able to disclose. This is a sensitive matter and the results of this case might bring more trouble down the line for the people in question. I will tell you this: it is a civil case. It involves a former tenant.
At 10 a.m., Wednesday, I had gotten a phone call I had been expecting since I arrived. It was a lovely woman with a Southern drawl
And, let me just preface the rest of my day right here. Have I ever mentioned everything in the South takes longer? If not, let me just say this: on Wednesday, I talked with Kirby three times. That is three times more than I talk with him in a month. I had nothing better to do.
 |
| Very hard and very wooden bench |
When the lawyers broke for lunch, Carolsue got the very tasty-looking salad. I got the e-coli laden chicken sandwich that is still haunting me. And nobody brought us a drink. At some point much later, Carolsue managed to find the lady with the secret key to the vending machine. Carolsue got the soda she wanted. They were out of bottled water I wanted.
After lunch, I made the executive decision that I wasn't hanging out on the bench when there was a cute little conference room with a Carolsue.
The 8 x 8 conference room had two wooden chairs and a table. Additionally, we added two AARP magazines (dated from 2007 and 2008) a Birmingham phone book with a missing cover, a St. Louis Cardnials' coffee table book (that I read in 30 minutes) and my suduku puzzle book.
As as the hours dragged by, and Carolsue was short on nicotine, I noticed the conference room beginning to shrink. By the time I was texting Baseball Guy and telling him Carolsue was ready to get a foot in her rear, the room was no longer cute. But is sure was little. Meanwhile, I had a seriously pissed off former tenant who would have charred us if her super-power had been fire breathing. On Wednesday, my super-power had more to do with the bad stomach cramps, from my chicken sandwich.
So there we were, me with undigested poisoned chicken, nothing to drink and Carolsue jonesing for another cigarette. And, I will also tell you, every so often, I would make suggestions as to how she could improve her karma--just because it took my mind off my poor tummy. She in turn would bite my head off and we would go back to our respective AARP magazines for another five minutes.
Carolsue was called in as a witness at 5:08 p.m. I believe she sprinted into the courtroom in record time--just to get away from me. Though most courts end around 4:30ish, this one was not. She was there an hour, giving me ample time to walk the halls, deal with my food posioning and repeatedly text Bliz and Legal Eagle.
All along I was maintaining (and Carolsue and Marty can confirm), that I am not going to testify. Denial is powerful, yet totally useless. But here I was--since 10 a.m., and I hadn't taken the stand. After Carolsue there was a surprise witness and then the judge called it a night. I didn't testify. But I did sit with Crabbysue for six hours. That is a trial untoitself.
My court appearance is now scheduled for Friday. First thing. This time I am bringing a bottle of water, a book and my own snacks. Though I am still into denial I will be testifying.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
A Day From Leeds
This morning started off with me swinging to take a look at a few of my homes on my way to pick up Carolsue. Together, we made our way, winding past Ms. Kathy's house (and seeing a pet carrier on the front steps and a dog house on the back deck...) towards my least favorite destination in the entire South: Leeds Alabama.
I would like to tell you a few good things about my house in Leeds right now.
1. It appears the head of the Red Neck Mafia has moved out. Or passed on. Either way is good for me. I am pleased to say that his yard was cleaned up and the only signs of life at his house was a black man who pulled up in a construction pick-up. So, I guarantee this neighbor is now a former neighbor.
2. The idiot across the street and his felon daughter were nowhere to be seen. I'm good with that. However, I think they may have broken in and stolen the kitchen light. At least they were kind enough to cap the ends of the electrical wires.
3. The house I own in Leeds on a very quiet street really is super-cute when it is cleaned up. I so very much want to find someone who will love this house. I really do. And, they must pay the rent. Without drama. Is that really asking too much?
What I did find when Carolsue and I arrived was a cleaned up version of the pictures Kirby showed me from when the tenants first moved out. In a moment of multi-tasking, as I was looking at crayon and peanut butter walls, I called Kirby while I also dealt with a mild stroke. Kirby--who now manages more than 100 properties--dropped everything and hurried on over (a total customer service professional!). Of course, then I got to see the "before" pictures he had for me. So, the cleaned up version was much, much better.
In one of the before pictures there is obviously a light fixture in the kitchen. There is also a picture of the kitchen where the previous tenants left a cooked chicken on the kitchen counter in their haste to scurry out the door. They also left behind a few toys and other personal belongings as well. And coffee grounds. Did I mention the coffee grounds on the carpet?
I gotta tell you. Every carpet must be cleaned and every wall needs some level of paint on it--most of it is just touch-up. But still! I have successfully managed to keep my kids from writing on the walls with Sharpies for ten years. These folks only lived here for seven weeks.
As we were walking out, Carolsue made friends with an elderly neighbor. The neighbor in question (who just loved Carolsue), has a friend of a sister of a cousin's hairdresser who needs a place to live. I didn't understand much of it, but she now has Kirby's phone number and Carolsue is going to be invited back for Easter dinner.
While Carolsue and her new friend were chatting it gave me time to cover the one burning question Kirby had on his mind. Why did Carolsue keep referring to him as "Kirby?" You see, Kirby is not Kirby's real name. As with most of the names on this blog, Kirby is a pseudonym. So, I explained the whole blog thing to him. He took it in stride. And thankfully didn't ask to read this.
I would like to tell you a few good things about my house in Leeds right now.
1. It appears the head of the Red Neck Mafia has moved out. Or passed on. Either way is good for me. I am pleased to say that his yard was cleaned up and the only signs of life at his house was a black man who pulled up in a construction pick-up. So, I guarantee this neighbor is now a former neighbor.
2. The idiot across the street and his felon daughter were nowhere to be seen. I'm good with that. However, I think they may have broken in and stolen the kitchen light. At least they were kind enough to cap the ends of the electrical wires.
3. The house I own in Leeds on a very quiet street really is super-cute when it is cleaned up. I so very much want to find someone who will love this house. I really do. And, they must pay the rent. Without drama. Is that really asking too much?
What I did find when Carolsue and I arrived was a cleaned up version of the pictures Kirby showed me from when the tenants first moved out. In a moment of multi-tasking, as I was looking at crayon and peanut butter walls, I called Kirby while I also dealt with a mild stroke. Kirby--who now manages more than 100 properties--dropped everything and hurried on over (a total customer service professional!). Of course, then I got to see the "before" pictures he had for me. So, the cleaned up version was much, much better.
In one of the before pictures there is obviously a light fixture in the kitchen. There is also a picture of the kitchen where the previous tenants left a cooked chicken on the kitchen counter in their haste to scurry out the door. They also left behind a few toys and other personal belongings as well. And coffee grounds. Did I mention the coffee grounds on the carpet?
I gotta tell you. Every carpet must be cleaned and every wall needs some level of paint on it--most of it is just touch-up. But still! I have successfully managed to keep my kids from writing on the walls with Sharpies for ten years. These folks only lived here for seven weeks.
As we were walking out, Carolsue made friends with an elderly neighbor. The neighbor in question (who just loved Carolsue), has a friend of a sister of a cousin's hairdresser who needs a place to live. I didn't understand much of it, but she now has Kirby's phone number and Carolsue is going to be invited back for Easter dinner.
While Carolsue and her new friend were chatting it gave me time to cover the one burning question Kirby had on his mind. Why did Carolsue keep referring to him as "Kirby?" You see, Kirby is not Kirby's real name. As with most of the names on this blog, Kirby is a pseudonym. So, I explained the whole blog thing to him. He took it in stride. And thankfully didn't ask to read this.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Random Bama--The Travel Edition
My first order of business Monday night, after texting Marty Sunshine that my plane had landed and getting my luggage, was finding a Zaxby's. This came even before calling Carolsue to tell her I was alive and had made it to Birmingham. I love Zaxby's about six months after I eat it and fondly remember it from that point forward. But from the time it digests to month 5.99, not so much.
___________________________________________
Today's order of business is to swing by and pick up Carolsue. Then we are going to swing by and find out where the courthouse happens to be. So I can show up at my appointed time.
We are also going to check out the house in Leeds sometime this week. Just to make sure it is still standing.
__________________________________________
I am pretty much playing this trip fast and loose. This is a far cry from my usual plan-everything-and account for every moment type of trip. I need to see people. Some of them attorney-types about attorney-type business.
I think Kirby warrants a visit. I am sure he will be totally excited to find out I'm in town with little warning. I just sent him an e-mail. I wonder if he will reply before I show up on his doorstep.
And, possibly I will see Jack too. However, he hasn't been feeling too hot, so I am going to lay low and definitely play that one by ear.
__________________________________________
I am also going to take a look-see at some of my rentals. And perhaps pay a visit to Haroldine. I'll call first. It is only proper.
___________________________________________
Today's order of business is to swing by and pick up Carolsue. Then we are going to swing by and find out where the courthouse happens to be. So I can show up at my appointed time.
We are also going to check out the house in Leeds sometime this week. Just to make sure it is still standing.
__________________________________________
I am pretty much playing this trip fast and loose. This is a far cry from my usual plan-everything-and account for every moment type of trip. I need to see people. Some of them attorney-types about attorney-type business.
I think Kirby warrants a visit. I am sure he will be totally excited to find out I'm in town with little warning. I just sent him an e-mail. I wonder if he will reply before I show up on his doorstep.
And, possibly I will see Jack too. However, he hasn't been feeling too hot, so I am going to lay low and definitely play that one by ear.
__________________________________________
I am also going to take a look-see at some of my rentals. And perhaps pay a visit to Haroldine. I'll call first. It is only proper.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Can't We All Just Get Along?
I am on my way to Birmingham today to take care of a few errands.
But first, from the "I am soooo not making this up" file. In a place where manners are the cornerstone of society, we have this AP story.
Thousands mourn historic trees in rally at Auburn
By JOHN ZENOR, AP Sports Writer John Zenor, Ap Sports Writer – Sat Feb 19, 8:34 pm ET
AUBURN, Ala. – A steady stream of people began to arrive early Saturday morning to mourn the poisoning of oak trees at Toomer's Corner, where Auburn fans have long celebrated wins.
The heartfelt demonstration continued well into the afternoon.
Fans took pictures and left gifts and tributes, including rolls of toilet paper that surrounded the two 130-year-old oaks located on the fringes of campus.
The rally reflected the depth of pain and frustration engulfing this small community.
"Toomer's Tree Hug" was about proud tradition; it was about college football — two things residents in this state are rabidly, unapologetically passionate about.
And it was an Alabama fan — Harvey Updyke Jr., 62 — who apparently let his passion spiral out of control. Updyke has been charged with first-degree criminal mischief for allegedly using a tree-destroying herbicide to poison the oaks after Auburn beat the Crimson Tide in November. He was released from the Lee County Detention Facility on bond Friday night.
The heinous act has put the special rivalry in the national spotlight, even in the offseason.
In this state you're either an Alabama or Auburn fan — and declarations of neutrality can draw a disbelieving sneer. Once a year everything nearly comes to a complete stop when Alabama and Auburn lock horns in the Iron Bowl. And after the game ends, people talk about it the rest of the year, oftentimes while sipping sweet tea and eating barbecue.
For generations of Auburn fans, Toomer's Corner has been the spot to revel in those games.
It's not a big place, basically a nondescript intersection of College and Magnolia streets separating campus and downtown a quick walk from Jordan-Hare Stadium. But the small strip of land with the stately trees is considered sacred ground.
Retired Auburn athletic director David Housel tried to put its significance in terms people outside Southeastern Conference country can understand.
"In New York, Times Square is considered the crossroads of the world," Housel said. "In our world, Toomer's Corner is the crossroads of Auburn."
Harming the oaks was a low blow for a rivalry marked by memorable clashes and perpetually nursed grudges. But it's not the first time the rivalry has turned violent.
A Mobile man was charged with stabbing three Auburn fraternity members after apparently triggering a fight by yelling "Roll Tide" before the 2005 Iron Bowl. A judge eventually declared a mistrial after a key witness refused to testify.
Longtime Auburn fan Bill Jones of Scottsboro, who drove down for the rally, remembers a Toomer's oak being set on fire after the 1993 Iron Bowl, when Auburn completed an 11-0 season with a win.
"I was just standing right there and the guy set it on fire," Jones said. "The fire trucks couldn't even get in here hardly because there were 10,000 people here. If you've never been here after a ball game, you can't imagine it. It's shoulder to shoulder.
"It's gotten so it's a hatred rivalry."
Yes, it's a bitter, state-encompassing affair — one where a lack of professional sports and two schools dominating the sports landscape make it different than other storied sports rivalries like North Carolina-Duke, Ohio State-Michigan, Red Sox-Yankees or Lakers-Celtics.
"I grew up in North Carolina and I experienced the North Carolina-Duke basketball rivalry," Jones said. "It's nothing compared to this, and it's the best basketball rivalry. Nothing compared to the hatred that's in this state. It's a shame, too, really.
"In North Carolina, you do have four major universities, (including) Wake Forest and (North Carolina) State. It's a heated rivalry but not a hated rivalry. The state up there is not divided down the middle. Here it's divided down the middle."
But this ugly act seems to have momentarily united the divided camps in Alabama.
One crimson-and-white group has started raising money for replacements for the oaks. Auburn coach Gene Chizik and Alabama's Nick Saban — who have split the last two national football titles — even issued a joint statement saying this was "an isolated incident by one individual that is not representative of what the greatest rivalry in college football is all about."
Alabama student Sean Phillips, wearing a jersey of Tide Heisman Trophy winner Mark Ingram, said Saturday it is "a really sad day for Alabama as a whole." Phillips made the two-hour drive from home in Birmingham "to support a tradition that will soon be lost here."
"The guy that did this was crazy," Phillips said. "There might be animosity between the schools, but there's always that connection because we're all from Alabama. We're all in this together."
The Toomer's traditions — including the famously sweet lemonade at Toomer's Drugs across the street — are ingrained in the state's culture, like Alabama and Bear Bryant.
Auburn people have used Toomer's Corner as a meeting place since the school was established in 1856. Housel said it morphed into what it is today in 1972.
"They were No. 2 and (Auburn star) Terry Henley said we're going to go beat the No. 2 out of Alabama," Housel said. "Auburn won the game 17-16 and everybody went out to Toomer's Corner and rolled it in toilet paper."
Longtime Auburn fans are having a difficult time coping with the apparent demise of the trees.
F.O. Ferguson, of Sylacauga, Ala., came to his first Auburn game in 1934, said Toomer's Corner is a landmark that means a lot to Auburn people.
"I don't understand why anybody would just maliciously ... a tree that's not bothering anybody." Ferguson said, shaking his head. "I don't know. We've got some crazies in this world."
Joyce Parker, an 86-year-old Auburn alum and football season ticker holder, was not about to miss the rally, driving a few hours from her home in Gadsden.
"We love Auburn," Parker said. "We love the school and we love the town. And we love the trees."
But first, from the "I am soooo not making this up" file. In a place where manners are the cornerstone of society, we have this AP story.
Thousands mourn historic trees in rally at Auburn
By JOHN ZENOR, AP Sports Writer John Zenor, Ap Sports Writer – Sat Feb 19, 8:34 pm ET
AUBURN, Ala. – A steady stream of people began to arrive early Saturday morning to mourn the poisoning of oak trees at Toomer's Corner, where Auburn fans have long celebrated wins.
The heartfelt demonstration continued well into the afternoon.
Fans took pictures and left gifts and tributes, including rolls of toilet paper that surrounded the two 130-year-old oaks located on the fringes of campus.
The rally reflected the depth of pain and frustration engulfing this small community.
"Toomer's Tree Hug" was about proud tradition; it was about college football — two things residents in this state are rabidly, unapologetically passionate about.
And it was an Alabama fan — Harvey Updyke Jr., 62 — who apparently let his passion spiral out of control. Updyke has been charged with first-degree criminal mischief for allegedly using a tree-destroying herbicide to poison the oaks after Auburn beat the Crimson Tide in November. He was released from the Lee County Detention Facility on bond Friday night.
The heinous act has put the special rivalry in the national spotlight, even in the offseason.
In this state you're either an Alabama or Auburn fan — and declarations of neutrality can draw a disbelieving sneer. Once a year everything nearly comes to a complete stop when Alabama and Auburn lock horns in the Iron Bowl. And after the game ends, people talk about it the rest of the year, oftentimes while sipping sweet tea and eating barbecue.
For generations of Auburn fans, Toomer's Corner has been the spot to revel in those games.
It's not a big place, basically a nondescript intersection of College and Magnolia streets separating campus and downtown a quick walk from Jordan-Hare Stadium. But the small strip of land with the stately trees is considered sacred ground.
Retired Auburn athletic director David Housel tried to put its significance in terms people outside Southeastern Conference country can understand.
"In New York, Times Square is considered the crossroads of the world," Housel said. "In our world, Toomer's Corner is the crossroads of Auburn."
Harming the oaks was a low blow for a rivalry marked by memorable clashes and perpetually nursed grudges. But it's not the first time the rivalry has turned violent.
A Mobile man was charged with stabbing three Auburn fraternity members after apparently triggering a fight by yelling "Roll Tide" before the 2005 Iron Bowl. A judge eventually declared a mistrial after a key witness refused to testify.
Longtime Auburn fan Bill Jones of Scottsboro, who drove down for the rally, remembers a Toomer's oak being set on fire after the 1993 Iron Bowl, when Auburn completed an 11-0 season with a win.
"I was just standing right there and the guy set it on fire," Jones said. "The fire trucks couldn't even get in here hardly because there were 10,000 people here. If you've never been here after a ball game, you can't imagine it. It's shoulder to shoulder.
"It's gotten so it's a hatred rivalry."
Yes, it's a bitter, state-encompassing affair — one where a lack of professional sports and two schools dominating the sports landscape make it different than other storied sports rivalries like North Carolina-Duke, Ohio State-Michigan, Red Sox-Yankees or Lakers-Celtics.
"I grew up in North Carolina and I experienced the North Carolina-Duke basketball rivalry," Jones said. "It's nothing compared to this, and it's the best basketball rivalry. Nothing compared to the hatred that's in this state. It's a shame, too, really.
"In North Carolina, you do have four major universities, (including) Wake Forest and (North Carolina) State. It's a heated rivalry but not a hated rivalry. The state up there is not divided down the middle. Here it's divided down the middle."
But this ugly act seems to have momentarily united the divided camps in Alabama.
One crimson-and-white group has started raising money for replacements for the oaks. Auburn coach Gene Chizik and Alabama's Nick Saban — who have split the last two national football titles — even issued a joint statement saying this was "an isolated incident by one individual that is not representative of what the greatest rivalry in college football is all about."
Alabama student Sean Phillips, wearing a jersey of Tide Heisman Trophy winner Mark Ingram, said Saturday it is "a really sad day for Alabama as a whole." Phillips made the two-hour drive from home in Birmingham "to support a tradition that will soon be lost here."
"The guy that did this was crazy," Phillips said. "There might be animosity between the schools, but there's always that connection because we're all from Alabama. We're all in this together."
The Toomer's traditions — including the famously sweet lemonade at Toomer's Drugs across the street — are ingrained in the state's culture, like Alabama and Bear Bryant.
Auburn people have used Toomer's Corner as a meeting place since the school was established in 1856. Housel said it morphed into what it is today in 1972.
"They were No. 2 and (Auburn star) Terry Henley said we're going to go beat the No. 2 out of Alabama," Housel said. "Auburn won the game 17-16 and everybody went out to Toomer's Corner and rolled it in toilet paper."
Longtime Auburn fans are having a difficult time coping with the apparent demise of the trees.
F.O. Ferguson, of Sylacauga, Ala., came to his first Auburn game in 1934, said Toomer's Corner is a landmark that means a lot to Auburn people.
"I don't understand why anybody would just maliciously ... a tree that's not bothering anybody." Ferguson said, shaking his head. "I don't know. We've got some crazies in this world."
Joyce Parker, an 86-year-old Auburn alum and football season ticker holder, was not about to miss the rally, driving a few hours from her home in Gadsden.
"We love Auburn," Parker said. "We love the school and we love the town. And we love the trees."
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Pondering
I sometimes wonder if investing in Alabama was worth it. But then I think if I had spent the same amount of money in the metro Phoenix area during the same time period, I would have fewer homes and they would all be worth significantly less than I paid for them. If we had even gotten that far.
Given the foreclosure rate in Arizona, I can't guarantee I wouldn't have been a casualty. Two homes I had at the time the market was hot went to foreclosure after I sold them to other buyers. If I had held on to them, I am not sure what would have happened. With that fact alone, I am definitely glad I wasn't investing in Phoenix at the time we were heavily buying homes.
But, it isn't as if I did tons of research before I landed in Birmingham. At the time, Marty Sunshine and I had been bandying about investing in other areas of the country but hadn't really done much about it. When we were presented with Birmingham it was one of those, "Here is an opportunity, what do you think?"
What I wonder is about the people. I can honestly say, good and bad, I have met some interesting folks who have made a significant impact on my life in a way that I cannot compare to my life in here in Mesa. And, I have had some lulus for tenants. Many of them came from choices I made early on. They were my crash college courses in landlording. They taught me everything I know and then some.
However, at the time I made those choices it was with the information I had on hand. I was led to believe X about a tenant only to find out that the person recommending them (in this case, it would be my former agent, the Rajun Cajun) wasn't exactly telling the truth. So, if I had the real facts in front of me, I would like to think I would have made different decisions. And, I never would have rented to Wayward. Ever.
Also, had the Rajun Cajun told the truth, I wouldn't have ended up with two one-bathroom homes. (one bathroom homes are somewhat more common over there). Then again, I also wouldn't have had as many homes as I do. I am not sure if that is a good thing right now. But, it isn't the end of the world either. Once upon a time, we were actually profitable. I bet there are a lot of landlords who said that who don't have homes now. So, maybe we are ahead of the game.
The jury is still out on whether this adventure was worth it. Marty Sunshine says it is. Learning for the sake of knowledge is always worth it. I have certainly learned a lot I can take into the next phase of my life--whatever that happens to look like.
Given the foreclosure rate in Arizona, I can't guarantee I wouldn't have been a casualty. Two homes I had at the time the market was hot went to foreclosure after I sold them to other buyers. If I had held on to them, I am not sure what would have happened. With that fact alone, I am definitely glad I wasn't investing in Phoenix at the time we were heavily buying homes.
But, it isn't as if I did tons of research before I landed in Birmingham. At the time, Marty Sunshine and I had been bandying about investing in other areas of the country but hadn't really done much about it. When we were presented with Birmingham it was one of those, "Here is an opportunity, what do you think?"
What I wonder is about the people. I can honestly say, good and bad, I have met some interesting folks who have made a significant impact on my life in a way that I cannot compare to my life in here in Mesa. And, I have had some lulus for tenants. Many of them came from choices I made early on. They were my crash college courses in landlording. They taught me everything I know and then some.
However, at the time I made those choices it was with the information I had on hand. I was led to believe X about a tenant only to find out that the person recommending them (in this case, it would be my former agent, the Rajun Cajun) wasn't exactly telling the truth. So, if I had the real facts in front of me, I would like to think I would have made different decisions. And, I never would have rented to Wayward. Ever.
Also, had the Rajun Cajun told the truth, I wouldn't have ended up with two one-bathroom homes. (one bathroom homes are somewhat more common over there). Then again, I also wouldn't have had as many homes as I do. I am not sure if that is a good thing right now. But, it isn't the end of the world either. Once upon a time, we were actually profitable. I bet there are a lot of landlords who said that who don't have homes now. So, maybe we are ahead of the game.
The jury is still out on whether this adventure was worth it. Marty Sunshine says it is. Learning for the sake of knowledge is always worth it. I have certainly learned a lot I can take into the next phase of my life--whatever that happens to look like.
Friday, February 18, 2011
What's in a Name?
Recently I was talking to Polly's engaging BFF about her arch nemesis: Katie. Katie, it seems, is one of those "dumb stuck-up" 10 year old types. And, Katie's father is some sort of big-wig in some company. Every chance Katie gets, she talks endlessly about her father's wonderful job. BFF mildly commented that she couldn't compete with that.
"Sure you can! Just tell her you personally know--and have stayed the night at the home of--the CEO of a corporation." Then I explained I was CEO of a corporation and Marty Sunshine was CFO (or CIO--I really don't remember which).
Polly's BFF was genuinely impressed. But, I wish she wasn't. It really isn't as glamorous as it sounds.
Just ask Katie's father.
"Sure you can! Just tell her you personally know--and have stayed the night at the home of--the CEO of a corporation." Then I explained I was CEO of a corporation and Marty Sunshine was CFO (or CIO--I really don't remember which).
Polly's BFF was genuinely impressed. But, I wish she wasn't. It really isn't as glamorous as it sounds.
Just ask Katie's father.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Training the Nontrainable
Last October, I was dithering about what to do about Ms. Kathy. You see, her lease was going to be up Feb. 3, 2011. She lives in a really cute, but really small home in the very desirable community of Moody. But, because her home is so small and it has one bathroom, it isn't as easy to rent out as most.
And, there is this pesky issue of Mr. Smith--the former tenant and Alabama's biggest deadbeat--living across the street at his father in law's home.
What I was ruminating about last October was did I want to give Ms. Kathy her walking papers or did I want to allow our dysfunctional relationship to fester until the the sun burned out. Ms. Kathy at the time was making this a no-brainer.
Ms. Kathy, since she moved in, has been a difficult tenant in the sense that she doesn't pay on time and has tons of excuses. That is what one gets when one puts in a tenant with iffy credit. Which I did--two years ago. And, I knew it at the time.
To her credit, although more of a drama queen than I prefer, Ms. Kathy is clean and keeps the house up. She grew up in the neighborhood. And, her sister moved into the home right next door. So, she has a vested interest in where she lives.
If she paid, I wouldn't think twice about her. And, all of Ms. Kathy's fine attributes didn't stop her from once writing me and explaining the reason she wasn't paying the rent that month was because her brother was in jail for some sort of really bad thing and she needed the money to bail him out. After all, he didn't deserve to be punished for his his really bad thing.
Last autumn, I was at the end of my rope with her. I was fantasizing about not being under-capitalized and finding someone to add another bathroom to that home. I was thinking about what it would be like to just have two consecutive months of someone living in this home who actually paid the rent and didn't give me continual grief.
Then one day, Ms. Kathy wrote me about some dilemma or other she was having and would it be ok to make an exception this one time about the whole rent thing?? Of course, she never calls to ask. Though Ms. Kathy is clean and likes her neighborhood, she is not courageous when it comes to talking to me, adult-to-adult. What she didn't realize is that in person I am relatively shy, tend to talk too fast and slur my words when I am flustered. Ms. Kathy flusters me. Essentially, I am a lot more effective as communicator when I am typing than when I am speaking.
But, she chose to write me. So, I let her have it.
Somewhere floating in cyberspace is some sort of eloquent Pulitzer Prize-winning guilt trip I laid on her. I either said it outright, or I inferred enough (without telling her I was looking forward to her moving soon) that I managed to finally get my point across. And, I meant every word of it.
What I got back was two consecutive e-mails with apologies.
And, ever since then rent has come in on time. Without hassles. And, without drama.
And, there is this pesky issue of Mr. Smith--the former tenant and Alabama's biggest deadbeat--living across the street at his father in law's home.
What I was ruminating about last October was did I want to give Ms. Kathy her walking papers or did I want to allow our dysfunctional relationship to fester until the the sun burned out. Ms. Kathy at the time was making this a no-brainer.
Ms. Kathy, since she moved in, has been a difficult tenant in the sense that she doesn't pay on time and has tons of excuses. That is what one gets when one puts in a tenant with iffy credit. Which I did--two years ago. And, I knew it at the time.
To her credit, although more of a drama queen than I prefer, Ms. Kathy is clean and keeps the house up. She grew up in the neighborhood. And, her sister moved into the home right next door. So, she has a vested interest in where she lives.
If she paid, I wouldn't think twice about her. And, all of Ms. Kathy's fine attributes didn't stop her from once writing me and explaining the reason she wasn't paying the rent that month was because her brother was in jail for some sort of really bad thing and she needed the money to bail him out. After all, he didn't deserve to be punished for his his really bad thing.
Last autumn, I was at the end of my rope with her. I was fantasizing about not being under-capitalized and finding someone to add another bathroom to that home. I was thinking about what it would be like to just have two consecutive months of someone living in this home who actually paid the rent and didn't give me continual grief.
Then one day, Ms. Kathy wrote me about some dilemma or other she was having and would it be ok to make an exception this one time about the whole rent thing?? Of course, she never calls to ask. Though Ms. Kathy is clean and likes her neighborhood, she is not courageous when it comes to talking to me, adult-to-adult. What she didn't realize is that in person I am relatively shy, tend to talk too fast and slur my words when I am flustered. Ms. Kathy flusters me. Essentially, I am a lot more effective as communicator when I am typing than when I am speaking.
But, she chose to write me. So, I let her have it.
Somewhere floating in cyberspace is some sort of eloquent Pulitzer Prize-winning guilt trip I laid on her. I either said it outright, or I inferred enough (without telling her I was looking forward to her moving soon) that I managed to finally get my point across. And, I meant every word of it.
What I got back was two consecutive e-mails with apologies.
And, ever since then rent has come in on time. Without hassles. And, without drama.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
A Stain on One of My Good Days*
I would like to go on record here: I agreed more than a year ago to go to court and testify. Through the speedy justice system, this case has been moved about, hither and yon, to where we are finally. A date etched in er... sand stone.
What I didn't expect was a $&!*^% subpoena (a word I didn't even know how to spell until recently). To me, my willingness to help out was just made mandatory. And somehow this seems like a major affront. I am sure somewhere in the judicial playbook 101 all witnesses are subpoenaed--even those who have already been cooperative all along.
I liken this to a well trained dog, living in a back yard with an eight foot fence. The dog is content to hang out in the yard. It isn't going anywhere. But, just to be sure there is no room for escape, the owner chains the dog to a tree anyway.
That's how I feel. I already have my plane ticket weeks before my subpoena came (I expect never to have one of these things again, so I am going to write "subpoena" often for now to get as much mileage out of the darn word as I can--its a word geek thing). I already came to grips with the fact that I will be unceremoniously felt up by some TSA agent with a rubber glove. I already made arrangements for my homeschooled kids, begged family and friends to help and explained to my clients and fellow real estate professionals--please don't do anything while I am gone that will cause me to have an aneurysm. Just save that drama for my return.
So, to me, a subpoena seems like overkill. At one point I was going because I thought it was the right thing to do. Now I am going because I am being forced to. Or, more to the point: the subpoena doesn't give me the warm fuzzies. It isn't how I have been led to believe things are done in the South. Even if it is procedure.
*My apologies to Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20 for paraphrasing what is one of his best lyrics.
What I didn't expect was a $&!*^% subpoena (a word I didn't even know how to spell until recently). To me, my willingness to help out was just made mandatory. And somehow this seems like a major affront. I am sure somewhere in the judicial playbook 101 all witnesses are subpoenaed--even those who have already been cooperative all along.
I liken this to a well trained dog, living in a back yard with an eight foot fence. The dog is content to hang out in the yard. It isn't going anywhere. But, just to be sure there is no room for escape, the owner chains the dog to a tree anyway.
That's how I feel. I already have my plane ticket weeks before my subpoena came (I expect never to have one of these things again, so I am going to write "subpoena" often for now to get as much mileage out of the darn word as I can--its a word geek thing). I already came to grips with the fact that I will be unceremoniously felt up by some TSA agent with a rubber glove. I already made arrangements for my homeschooled kids, begged family and friends to help and explained to my clients and fellow real estate professionals--please don't do anything while I am gone that will cause me to have an aneurysm. Just save that drama for my return.
So, to me, a subpoena seems like overkill. At one point I was going because I thought it was the right thing to do. Now I am going because I am being forced to. Or, more to the point: the subpoena doesn't give me the warm fuzzies. It isn't how I have been led to believe things are done in the South. Even if it is procedure.
*My apologies to Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20 for paraphrasing what is one of his best lyrics.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Where is the Love?
In case you have never run across one of these thingys, this is what I subpoena looks like. I now know.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Market Research
So, I checked out a book from the library on how to be an awesome landlord. Don't judge me. If I knew the secret, I would have my own book, or I would be rolling in my millions (which--according to Bliz and Diamond Jim--I am not).
However, what I found out in this case, is I am approaching the whole landlord thing incorrectly. And, more to the point, I really should write a book. The book I checked out was chock-full of eye-bleeding cliches and mind-numbing writing. I was astonished to find out the book in question is not self-published, but instead a big-named publishing house actually put their name on it.
Here's a few paraphrased excerpts:
The answer was something along the lines of, if you do it right, the costs will be covered and the property will pretty much manage itself. Good to know.
However, what I found out in this case, is I am approaching the whole landlord thing incorrectly. And, more to the point, I really should write a book. The book I checked out was chock-full of eye-bleeding cliches and mind-numbing writing. I was astonished to find out the book in question is not self-published, but instead a big-named publishing house actually put their name on it.
Here's a few paraphrased excerpts:
- Don't ever advertise a vacant rental where a requirement for renting is sexual favors. According to the author, that is "discrimination."
- Deadbeats are bad. And deadbeat tenants are smarter than landlords.
- Run credit checks.
- Rent to rich people with money.
- Use a good smelling soap when cleaning your vacant rental.
- Keep the living room carpet clean (presumably while the rental is vacant).
- Don't let the tenant paint without the landlord's permission (Though the author didn't really cover how a landlord is supposed to stop this from happening.).
The answer was something along the lines of, if you do it right, the costs will be covered and the property will pretty much manage itself. Good to know.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Catch Phrase
On Friday, I managed to end four e-mails in two hours with, "thank you in advance for your cooperation and assistance." Of course, this is a really nice way of saying to at least one recipient, "Bless your heart. Are you just too stupid to live or just too incompetent to do your job?" The rest of them got that message because I was on a roll.
The last person to receive my new catch phrase was Kirby. I asked my weekly question: what is going on with Leeds, ending it with "thank you in advance....yada yada." Lo and behold! He wrote me back in record time! I seriously didn't expect a response until Sunday or Monday. But no, Kirby was channeling the awesomeness that brought me to him in the first place and got back to me right away.
Kirby's news wasn't as exciting as I had hoped. The folks in Leeds are still there (surprise!). But they were served this past week. If you are counting, that would be four weeks from the time I asked for this to happen. Perhaps I should have used my new phrase on the process server. Maybe then those yahoos would have been served sooner.
The last person to receive my new catch phrase was Kirby. I asked my weekly question: what is going on with Leeds, ending it with "thank you in advance....yada yada." Lo and behold! He wrote me back in record time! I seriously didn't expect a response until Sunday or Monday. But no, Kirby was channeling the awesomeness that brought me to him in the first place and got back to me right away.
Kirby's news wasn't as exciting as I had hoped. The folks in Leeds are still there (surprise!). But they were served this past week. If you are counting, that would be four weeks from the time I asked for this to happen. Perhaps I should have used my new phrase on the process server. Maybe then those yahoos would have been served sooner.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
State of the Business
On Wednesday, Mr. Partner and Marty Sunshine sat down for a pow-wow I purposely opted out of. No big deal. There were about 27 things I would rather have been doing (including, but not limited to, sitting on a beach somewhere with an iced tea and no cell service) than lunch at this particular pow-wow.
Now, before you get the wrong idea, I didn't feel slighted. You see, when I am at these every so often pow-wows, I have to answer the same questions over and over again: why is the business going "this" direction. And, of course "this direction" doesn't really have much do do with the reality. The real answer to the "this direction" question is we bought homes when it was cheap to get loans. Then the housing market tanked, leaving us floating amid a sea of foreclosures.
Hence, we don't have 20 percent equity positions in most of our properties. We are undercapitalized. This isn't a new revelation. At least not to me or Marty Sunshine. In the case of this pow-wow, I was perfectly happy to let Marty Sunshine answer these questions. After all, I left out "answering repetitive questions about our investments" in our marriage vows.
And, in all fairness, when Mr. Partner is reminded of our realities (because apparently he has a life outside of this accidental business and he doesn't keep on top of this on a daily basis), he seems to catch on. "Oh yea... I remember now... When aliens landed on our home in Centerpoint last year, they took the roof... I guess it was reasonable for the tenant to want a new roof. And I suppose we are paying for that..."
I would also like to point out for all interested parities, our losses this year weren't that bad--if you wish to classify a loss as "good" this might be the occasion. We still have put less than 20 percent into every home and we are still standing. But, our losses this past year aren't related to trashed homes, legal fees or poor tenant choices from years gone past. I am even going out on a limb here, I believe the worst is over. I hope.
We aren't cash flowing the mega bucks we were early on in our Alabama business, but we aren't bleeding to death either. We have a lot of work in front of us, to make up for the mistakes of years past, but I prefer productive growth (even in the form of "a lot of work") to running around conducting rental home triage.
In truth, about twice a year, the Sunshines and the Partners get together and write a check for home owner's insurance and property taxes on our gazillion properties. This money would probably be in our business bank account if it wasn't for alien abducted roofs, melted furnaces or 150 year old trees that fall into rush hour traffic. And, we get a tax write off which is usually put back into the business every year. So, even though things tend to be tight once in a while, all bills get paid.
Always.
In my local real estate practice, I work with investors on a regular basis who have to short sell their homes or have let their rental properties go into foreclosure because of market factors and personal decisions. We haven't gone there. And, at the rate we are going, I am confident we won't.
Now, before you get the wrong idea, I didn't feel slighted. You see, when I am at these every so often pow-wows, I have to answer the same questions over and over again: why is the business going "this" direction. And, of course "this direction" doesn't really have much do do with the reality. The real answer to the "this direction" question is we bought homes when it was cheap to get loans. Then the housing market tanked, leaving us floating amid a sea of foreclosures.
Hence, we don't have 20 percent equity positions in most of our properties. We are undercapitalized. This isn't a new revelation. At least not to me or Marty Sunshine. In the case of this pow-wow, I was perfectly happy to let Marty Sunshine answer these questions. After all, I left out "answering repetitive questions about our investments" in our marriage vows.
And, in all fairness, when Mr. Partner is reminded of our realities (because apparently he has a life outside of this accidental business and he doesn't keep on top of this on a daily basis), he seems to catch on. "Oh yea... I remember now... When aliens landed on our home in Centerpoint last year, they took the roof... I guess it was reasonable for the tenant to want a new roof. And I suppose we are paying for that..."
I would also like to point out for all interested parities, our losses this year weren't that bad--if you wish to classify a loss as "good" this might be the occasion. We still have put less than 20 percent into every home and we are still standing. But, our losses this past year aren't related to trashed homes, legal fees or poor tenant choices from years gone past. I am even going out on a limb here, I believe the worst is over. I hope.
We aren't cash flowing the mega bucks we were early on in our Alabama business, but we aren't bleeding to death either. We have a lot of work in front of us, to make up for the mistakes of years past, but I prefer productive growth (even in the form of "a lot of work") to running around conducting rental home triage.
In truth, about twice a year, the Sunshines and the Partners get together and write a check for home owner's insurance and property taxes on our gazillion properties. This money would probably be in our business bank account if it wasn't for alien abducted roofs, melted furnaces or 150 year old trees that fall into rush hour traffic. And, we get a tax write off which is usually put back into the business every year. So, even though things tend to be tight once in a while, all bills get paid.
Always.
In my local real estate practice, I work with investors on a regular basis who have to short sell their homes or have let their rental properties go into foreclosure because of market factors and personal decisions. We haven't gone there. And, at the rate we are going, I am confident we won't.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Cultural Differences
The other day, my cyber friend Lori and I were in a digital chat. Lori wanted super-inexpensive storage ideas. I suggested Lori spray paint a few boxes and voila! easy storage solutions.
Lori, however, lives somewhere blizardish wasn't able to spray paint. Me, a desert dweller, didn't exactly understand (until Lori pointed it out) that blizzards and spray painting don't go hand in hand. A cultural difference.
Of course, there are other cultural differences I encounter on a regular basis. Most of these I have absorbed through the course of running my accidental business. Many of them I don't even notice anymore.
Last week Mr. Partner was making noises like he does every quarter or so about the state of affairs in Alabama. I grumbled to Marty Sunshine that if Mr. Partner felt he could do a better job managing this, I was willing to retire. And, Godspeed.
Marty pointed out that Mr. Partner couldn't handle the cultural differences. Though Mr. Partner totally rocks at being a landlord. And, he brings thrifty to a level only surpassed by Ebenezer Scrooge. Doing business in the South takes a bit more than understanding when to write the check and whom to write it to.
In the South, people expect--and only respect--those who are polite. There is a time window in any conversation where small talk is required. The weather, the state of affairs or any other issue deemed appropriate in polite society is required to be covered thoroughly before getting to the crux of the matter at hand.
I am sure there have been 911 calls that start, "Hello. How y'all doing? Can you believe this weather we are having here? By the way, Timmy has fallen into the well..."
By which the 911 operator would answer, "Oh, bless his heart..."
Urgency in the South is not the same as the rest of the world. Kirby taking four days to return my e-mail (which he did) may be overly maddening to me, but to him--and most everyone else over there--this is a politely acceptable time frame to respond to an e-mail. Mr. Partner would not find this acceptable. Frankly, I don't either, but I understand Southerners do.
When I go to Birmingham, I am somewhat expected to have face time with those I do business with. Though this is an acceptable business practice everywhere, in the South, these aren't business meetings. They are social calls--and are to be treated as such. In the South, business is done with those people trust. Trust comes with a price and responsibility.
These aren't just basic MBA business practices, but time honored rituals rich in tradition and cultural heritage. Southerners in general don't particularly trust outsiders. Outsiders have to work to earn the trust. Not the other way around.
Just like for Lori and her near Arctic conditions, in the South, what I am calling "cultural differences" are really just a way of life. And though I fantasize about Mr. Partner taking over, I am not sure he would take the time to learn these differences. And if Mr. Partner doesn't master the cultural mores, that alone could make or break what we do.
Lori, however, lives somewhere blizardish wasn't able to spray paint. Me, a desert dweller, didn't exactly understand (until Lori pointed it out) that blizzards and spray painting don't go hand in hand. A cultural difference.
Of course, there are other cultural differences I encounter on a regular basis. Most of these I have absorbed through the course of running my accidental business. Many of them I don't even notice anymore.
Last week Mr. Partner was making noises like he does every quarter or so about the state of affairs in Alabama. I grumbled to Marty Sunshine that if Mr. Partner felt he could do a better job managing this, I was willing to retire. And, Godspeed.
Marty pointed out that Mr. Partner couldn't handle the cultural differences. Though Mr. Partner totally rocks at being a landlord. And, he brings thrifty to a level only surpassed by Ebenezer Scrooge. Doing business in the South takes a bit more than understanding when to write the check and whom to write it to.
In the South, people expect--and only respect--those who are polite. There is a time window in any conversation where small talk is required. The weather, the state of affairs or any other issue deemed appropriate in polite society is required to be covered thoroughly before getting to the crux of the matter at hand.
I am sure there have been 911 calls that start, "Hello. How y'all doing? Can you believe this weather we are having here? By the way, Timmy has fallen into the well..."
By which the 911 operator would answer, "Oh, bless his heart..."
Urgency in the South is not the same as the rest of the world. Kirby taking four days to return my e-mail (which he did) may be overly maddening to me, but to him--and most everyone else over there--this is a politely acceptable time frame to respond to an e-mail. Mr. Partner would not find this acceptable. Frankly, I don't either, but I understand Southerners do.
When I go to Birmingham, I am somewhat expected to have face time with those I do business with. Though this is an acceptable business practice everywhere, in the South, these aren't business meetings. They are social calls--and are to be treated as such. In the South, business is done with those people trust. Trust comes with a price and responsibility.
These aren't just basic MBA business practices, but time honored rituals rich in tradition and cultural heritage. Southerners in general don't particularly trust outsiders. Outsiders have to work to earn the trust. Not the other way around.
Just like for Lori and her near Arctic conditions, in the South, what I am calling "cultural differences" are really just a way of life. And though I fantasize about Mr. Partner taking over, I am not sure he would take the time to learn these differences. And if Mr. Partner doesn't master the cultural mores, that alone could make or break what we do.
Monday, February 07, 2011
No News On Leeds
Kirby got back to me with my "Hey my request to you is four days old and I really do want to know what is happening in Leeds" type of note. The first draft of my second e-mail was much more full of snark. I toned it down to the basic facts: "Hey Kirby, I'm still waiting to hear from you."
Of course, now that I have my copy of the Kirby to English dictionary, I am understanding a few things. No reply from Kirby means he has no information. I am under the impression this is a perfectly acceptable answer for him.
Not that it matters much, I am here. The house in Leeds is there. And there isn't much I can do at this moment. (And, I would like to point out this is a big step for anyone who might be a tad high strung with control issues.)
Kirby's answer of course won't do for me. Not only do I need more information, I need results. But, for now, I am going to sit back and trust that Kirby is doing his job. According to Kirby, he expects to have a better update sometime this week. And, bless his heart, he will keep me posted.
Of course, now that I have my copy of the Kirby to English dictionary, I am understanding a few things. No reply from Kirby means he has no information. I am under the impression this is a perfectly acceptable answer for him.
Not that it matters much, I am here. The house in Leeds is there. And there isn't much I can do at this moment. (And, I would like to point out this is a big step for anyone who might be a tad high strung with control issues.)
Kirby's answer of course won't do for me. Not only do I need more information, I need results. But, for now, I am going to sit back and trust that Kirby is doing his job. According to Kirby, he expects to have a better update sometime this week. And, bless his heart, he will keep me posted.
Friday, February 04, 2011
Dilemmas
Do I show up on Kirby's doorstep next time I am in Birmingham and give him the evil eye until he firmly grasps that I really, truly am seeking information when I e-mail him and not sending random cryptic messages when I ask, say, "What the heck is going on with the house in Leeds?" Or, do I just show him this blog.
I really can't decide.
I really can't decide.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Haroldine
Haroldine didn't quite follow along with the guidelines she and I discussed in December. I don't really know what to make of it. I sort of believe her situation. She was a human resources manager for 19 years for a very large employer who was bought by a larger company. The larger company closed the Birmingham office and Haroldine was forced into retirement.
Currently, Haroldine is working part time at the outlet mall--the only place where she has been able to find employment for the past six months--while frantically looking for additional employment. I am guessing there are also other forms of income from a retirement and Harold as well.
But, none of that really matters. Haroldine is not on the lease for the home Jack and I own. Harold purposely wanted it that way. At the time, Harold said Haroldine was not living with him, but would be visiting occasionally. Somehow this has transitioned into Haroldine being my contact and her feeling responsible for the rent.
Though I am no psychologist, I would venture a guess here: this is a fancier home than Harold owns (because he has a house that he supposedly rents out in a different neighborhood). Haroldine moved in and is living some sort of fantasy whereby the two of them will live happily ever after. Except Harold doesn't want to play. He is perfectly fine moving back home and saying the heck with playing house. He doesn't have to buy the cow. So to speak.
So, Haroldine has been scrambling every month to make this fantasy work out, in spite of the fact that she really is killing herself doing so. But, it seems at this point, her entire perspective of their relationship is based on where she lives. I wouldn't care so much about this, but the stress of the location of her rent payment is eats at my stomach lining every month.
When Jack and I discussed Haroldine last Thursday morning at #$%$& 7:14 a.m., I asked him what he wanted to do: ask her to politely leave, find someone to help her move or let this situation fester along a bit longer.
I was astonished when he really encouraged me to play along. According to Jack, homes just aren't renting. The economy is so bad in Birmingham nobody is moving. Of course, that was my experience with the Leeds home, but I thought that was just because it was, well, Leeds. But, according to Jack, this is going on everywhere.
When I talked with Haroldine last week, I asked her what was going on. Obviously, she doesn't read this blog because her first reaction was to break into tears. After I insisted she call me back, she actually came up with a solution, that made me pleased when her follow through this week resulted in a rent payment.
One of the reasons I am willing to work with Haroldine is that she does call me back. She does answer my texts. She plays along--though I am not sure how happy I am to be playing along too. Something has to give. I am hoping it will be the Birmingham economy. Because I am not sure how much more I can take of the Haroldine drama.
Currently, Haroldine is working part time at the outlet mall--the only place where she has been able to find employment for the past six months--while frantically looking for additional employment. I am guessing there are also other forms of income from a retirement and Harold as well.
But, none of that really matters. Haroldine is not on the lease for the home Jack and I own. Harold purposely wanted it that way. At the time, Harold said Haroldine was not living with him, but would be visiting occasionally. Somehow this has transitioned into Haroldine being my contact and her feeling responsible for the rent.
Though I am no psychologist, I would venture a guess here: this is a fancier home than Harold owns (because he has a house that he supposedly rents out in a different neighborhood). Haroldine moved in and is living some sort of fantasy whereby the two of them will live happily ever after. Except Harold doesn't want to play. He is perfectly fine moving back home and saying the heck with playing house. He doesn't have to buy the cow. So to speak.
So, Haroldine has been scrambling every month to make this fantasy work out, in spite of the fact that she really is killing herself doing so. But, it seems at this point, her entire perspective of their relationship is based on where she lives. I wouldn't care so much about this, but the stress of the location of her rent payment is eats at my stomach lining every month.
When Jack and I discussed Haroldine last Thursday morning at #$%$& 7:14 a.m., I asked him what he wanted to do: ask her to politely leave, find someone to help her move or let this situation fester along a bit longer.
I was astonished when he really encouraged me to play along. According to Jack, homes just aren't renting. The economy is so bad in Birmingham nobody is moving. Of course, that was my experience with the Leeds home, but I thought that was just because it was, well, Leeds. But, according to Jack, this is going on everywhere.
When I talked with Haroldine last week, I asked her what was going on. Obviously, she doesn't read this blog because her first reaction was to break into tears. After I insisted she call me back, she actually came up with a solution, that made me pleased when her follow through this week resulted in a rent payment.
One of the reasons I am willing to work with Haroldine is that she does call me back. She does answer my texts. She plays along--though I am not sure how happy I am to be playing along too. Something has to give. I am hoping it will be the Birmingham economy. Because I am not sure how much more I can take of the Haroldine drama.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
Gratitude
Once upon a time--about five or six years ago actually--Ms. Angie called me. Her Southern drawl was so thick and rich that I only caught about one out of every 27 words. The reason she called me was she heard from someone I was the lady who had houses for rent. Could I help her?
At the time I couldn't. But that didn't stop her from calling every six months or so. In fact, unbeknownst to me, it turns out she was resigning a six month lease with her landlord so that if I did have something that came available, she would be ready.
But, not only was Ms. Angie calling about renting from me, she also called for other items. For whatever reason, she decided I was the foremost expert on Birmingham real estate and Alabama landlord-tenant law. Mind you, when she called I would listen with everything I had to make sure I half way understood her. It wasn't like we were buddies.
And, she seemed sweet enough, but every time she called, I didn't really have anything that suited her. Or, if I did, something came up in her life (like emergency surgery) and she didn't feel like she could, "do me right" by signing a lease at that time. In fact, I believe it was about this time I was familiar enough with her I actually started understanding her most of what she said.
A couple of years ago, I ended up with a trashed vacant home. Mr. Richards had been beamed up by aliens at an earlier date, and left me with quite a mess. Though he had evaporated into thin air, he had left all his worldly possessions, plus a few other hassles behind. And, it was just when I was reeling from this headache that Ms. Angie called again.
Ms. Angie needed to move. But, I warned her the home wasn't ready to show. So, if she could wait a few weeks, I would let her have first dibs. I did offer to give her the address and let her drive by. Which she did.
She also ran into Carolsue that day working diligently and cussing Mr. Richards' mother for not raising him properly. Carolsue, wasn't able to hold Ms. Angie back (nor did she probably try) as Ms. Angie marched into the house and looked around at the mess. Somewhere around the basement, hip deep in leftover Mr. Richards' droppings, Ms. Angie called me, "I want this house. When can I move in?" she asked.
Ms. Angie has been renting from me ever since. For the past year and a half, Ms. Angie has dutifully sent the rent on time every month. She will e-mail the day she sends it and call me two days later to make sure I received it. None of my other tenants have ever done this. Ever.
However, in January funds were a bit tight and she asked if she could pay late. I obliged, not the least bit worried she would take advantage (are you listening Ms. Shirley???). On Tuesday, Ms. Angie called me and left a message. She didn't want to mail the rent, as it was the first of the month and she knew my mortgage payment was due. Instead, could she please have my account number and deposit the money directly into my bank? Not a problem.
And, just like her, she called back a few hours later. I figured she was calling to let me know the money was there. Nope. Ms. Angie just called to thank me for letting her pay late. And, not to worry, she promised not to make a habit of this.
At the time I couldn't. But that didn't stop her from calling every six months or so. In fact, unbeknownst to me, it turns out she was resigning a six month lease with her landlord so that if I did have something that came available, she would be ready.
But, not only was Ms. Angie calling about renting from me, she also called for other items. For whatever reason, she decided I was the foremost expert on Birmingham real estate and Alabama landlord-tenant law. Mind you, when she called I would listen with everything I had to make sure I half way understood her. It wasn't like we were buddies.
And, she seemed sweet enough, but every time she called, I didn't really have anything that suited her. Or, if I did, something came up in her life (like emergency surgery) and she didn't feel like she could, "do me right" by signing a lease at that time. In fact, I believe it was about this time I was familiar enough with her I actually started understanding her most of what she said.
A couple of years ago, I ended up with a trashed vacant home. Mr. Richards had been beamed up by aliens at an earlier date, and left me with quite a mess. Though he had evaporated into thin air, he had left all his worldly possessions, plus a few other hassles behind. And, it was just when I was reeling from this headache that Ms. Angie called again.
Ms. Angie needed to move. But, I warned her the home wasn't ready to show. So, if she could wait a few weeks, I would let her have first dibs. I did offer to give her the address and let her drive by. Which she did.
She also ran into Carolsue that day working diligently and cussing Mr. Richards' mother for not raising him properly. Carolsue, wasn't able to hold Ms. Angie back (nor did she probably try) as Ms. Angie marched into the house and looked around at the mess. Somewhere around the basement, hip deep in leftover Mr. Richards' droppings, Ms. Angie called me, "I want this house. When can I move in?" she asked.
Ms. Angie has been renting from me ever since. For the past year and a half, Ms. Angie has dutifully sent the rent on time every month. She will e-mail the day she sends it and call me two days later to make sure I received it. None of my other tenants have ever done this. Ever.
However, in January funds were a bit tight and she asked if she could pay late. I obliged, not the least bit worried she would take advantage (are you listening Ms. Shirley???). On Tuesday, Ms. Angie called me and left a message. She didn't want to mail the rent, as it was the first of the month and she knew my mortgage payment was due. Instead, could she please have my account number and deposit the money directly into my bank? Not a problem.
And, just like her, she called back a few hours later. I figured she was calling to let me know the money was there. Nope. Ms. Angie just called to thank me for letting her pay late. And, not to worry, she promised not to make a habit of this.
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
This is What I am Talking About!
Last Thursday I hadn't received two rent payments: Mrs. Green's and Mrs. Sherwood's. I called Mrs. Green, who immediately sprang into action, calling her bank and texting me to tell me the check hadn't been cashed. Please keep me posted. On Friday I hadn't called her back, but she was back with another message, had the check come in yet??? Please let her know. She was stressed about the check missing. Did she need to stop payment. Should she fly out personally and hand me cash? What needed to happen.
I received her rent check on Saturday.
I also sent a quick text on Thursday to Mrs. Sherwood. She is harder to get in touch with. Essentially, when did she mail out the money? Her reply: a few days earlier.
Speaking of which, on Monday I realized I still hadn't received Mrs. Sherwood's money and sent her another quick text. In my defense, I hadn't thought much about it over the weekend.
When Mrs. Sherwood called me back, she was in such a tizzy that I am pretty sure she would have brought Carolsue to tears. Why had I not called her sooner? What was I thinking letting this much money float around without any regard to where it might be? All I could do was sit there and humbly "yes ma'am" my way through the call.
When she finished, she let me know she had already taken proactive steps. She said she had already called her bank and stopped payment. So, now she was on her way to my bank to deposit the rent--before the end of the month. And what was my account number?
And next time, I darn well better let her know sooner. Because she doesn't take lightly to missing money.
I received her rent check on Saturday.
I also sent a quick text on Thursday to Mrs. Sherwood. She is harder to get in touch with. Essentially, when did she mail out the money? Her reply: a few days earlier.
Speaking of which, on Monday I realized I still hadn't received Mrs. Sherwood's money and sent her another quick text. In my defense, I hadn't thought much about it over the weekend.
When Mrs. Sherwood called me back, she was in such a tizzy that I am pretty sure she would have brought Carolsue to tears. Why had I not called her sooner? What was I thinking letting this much money float around without any regard to where it might be? All I could do was sit there and humbly "yes ma'am" my way through the call.
When she finished, she let me know she had already taken proactive steps. She said she had already called her bank and stopped payment. So, now she was on her way to my bank to deposit the rent--before the end of the month. And what was my account number?
And next time, I darn well better let her know sooner. Because she doesn't take lightly to missing money.
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