Now this is a lovable public figure:
Why should I be alone in wasting my Sunday morning? Obamicon.me.
Category: Casual Friday (page 14 of 25)
It has been over two years since the Washington Post decided to have a little fun with people going to work. In January of 2007, they asked Joshua Bell, an internationally acclaimed virtuoso, to play his violin at an entrance to the D.C. metro during rush hour. It was conceived as a social experiment regarding the appreciation of art. You can read the full story here. I bring this up, not as a lover of classical music (I am woefully ignorant), but as a lover of people. What we do and how we do it – the way we interact with actual life – this I find incredibly interesting. I also find a great deal of practical use. Take this story for instance:
Joshua Bell is considered one of the greatest musical artists living today. His violin, hand made by Antonio Stradivari himself in 1713, is a musical masterpiece worth over $3 million. For his “subway” performance he chooses Bach’s Chaconne, said by those who should know to be one of the greatest pieces ever written: emotionally powerful and structurally perfect… it is also considered one of the most difficult pieces anyone can play. So there’s Joshua Bell, who a few nights before had sold out Boston’s Symphony Hall (where tickets in the parking lot start at $100), playing possibly the most difficult and most powerful piece of violin music ever written on one of the rarest and most perfect violins ever made. What do you think happened? He made less than $100 in tips, a couple of people slowed down to listen, one gentleman stopped for almost 3 full minutes and over a thousand people rushed by without a glance or a moment to listen.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. Some listened… some listened intently. But they could not stop. They were pulled along against their will even as they craned their little necks. Children “heard” the music. Children “saw” the man. Children “knew” they were in the presence of something. They knew this because Read more
Sometimes You Have To Push The Seriousness Away. Seriously.
Fellow blogger April Winchell posted this little tidbit a few days back:
If you’ve ever read President Obama’s Dreams From My Father, good for you. I couldn’t get past the foreword.
I wish I had. Because today I discovered that there’s a fairly juicy little subplot in the book, involving one of Obama’s high school friends.
Ray, a fellow classmate of Obama’s, was also bi-racial, and also trying to define himself. But what set him apart was his colorful manner of self-expression. Ray cursed like a motherfucker.
This would all be snickerworthy enough, but it turns out that Obama actually read the audiobook version of Dreams From My Father.
And that means he read Ray’s quotes.
And that means you’re about to hear the President of United States using language that would finish Cheney off once and for all.
Warning: Mature Content
(Don’t shoot me – I’m only the messenger)
We are in trouble …
The population of this country is 300 million.
160 million are retired.
That leaves 140 million to do the work.
There are 85 million in school.
Which leaves 55 million to do the work.
Of this there are 35 million employed by the federal government.
Leaving 15 million to do the work.
2.8 million are in the armed forces preoccupied with killing Osama Bin-Laden
Which leaves 12.2 million to do the work.
Take from that total the 10.8 million people who work for state and city Governments.
and that leaves 1.4 million to do the work.
At any given time there are 188,000 people in hospitals.
Leaving 1,212,000 to do the work.
Now, there are 1,211,998 people in prisons.
That leaves just two people to do the work.
You and me.
And there you are, sitting on your ass at your computer, reading jokes.
Nice. Real nice.
I know someone who knows a guy who might know of a ‘pocket listing’ back in the old neighborhood. That’s how everybody refers to a certain kind of good fellow in one particular ‘Near West’ Chicago block of stoop and brick row homes—guys. They call them guys. Guys from the Neighborhood.
“He’s a guy.”
“Who?”
“Him.”
“Him?”
“Yeah, him.”
“He’s a guy?”
“Yeah, he’s a guy.”
“He ain’t a guy.”
“Sure he is.”
“No he ain’t”
“He ain’t?”
“Nah.”
“I thought he was.”
“Nah. You’re thinkin’ of his cousin.”
It’s the sort of community where adult children inherit the homes from their parents and never move away; the same homes their parents inherited from the grand parents. The housing stock is a block-by-block mixture of row homes, traditional city bungalows, wood framed Two and Three Flats circa 1900, and turn-of-the-century brick Multi-Unit tenements. The same Italian restaurants, corner bars, and beef joints have lined Grand Avenue from Ogden to Ashland for generations. Guys, both young and old, loaf in front of their social clubs three seasons a year blocking the side walks in both directions, their Caddys and Buicks double parked against the curbs. Nobody gets a ticket. Nobody seems to have a job.
“His cousin?”
“Yeah.”
“But not him?
“Nah. They got the same first name and hair.”
“I did not know that.”
“Yup.”
“I thought they was the same guy”
“Nah. Different guy. Same hair though.”
“I did not know that…”
And so on for hours. Or years. Generations. Anyway, I know someone who knows someone who has a place he might want to sell on the down low (that’s Not Listed on the MLS for all you traditional RE peeps). A real guy, apparently—and like I said, also someone from the old neighborhood. Of course, this guy my friend speaks of doesn’t live in his building anymore and hasn’t for almost a decade. He’s been…well…he’s been away. Away, serving his country and the great state of Illinois to the tune of concurrent life stretches which, I learn from my friend (who is my age and stills lives at home with his mother who is also seated at the table in a house coat this snowy morning) is much better than consecutive life Read more
Rubbles up, Flintstones down. Is Fred facing foreclosure?
SEATTLE, Jan. 9 /PRNewswire/ -- It's a proud day in Bedrock as the new Zillow Zindex reveals that home prices in that historic city are up 2.5% for the fourth quarter of 2008. Bucking the trend for many American communities, Bedrock seems to be benefitting from a mid-century-modern nostalgia. "Face it," says Sam Slagheap, Grand Poobah of the Bedrock Loyal Order of Water Buffaloes, "it's the architecture."
Bedrock notables Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble both saw gains in the Zestimates for their homes, with Rubble seeing the bigger increase -- 2.8%. The Flintstone home grew in value by a more modest 2.3%.
Even so, there are whispers in Bedrock that the Flintstones could be facing foreclosure. Due to a labor dispute with Mr. Slate, Fred Flintstone has not worked in months. And county records indicate that the family may have encumbered the home for more than its present value.
"That's a condition we at Zillow call 'underwater,'" said Dr. Stan Humphries, Zillow's vice president of data and analytics. "We like to use that term because it gets better headlines than 'upside-down.'"
The Zillow Zindex of Bedrock is one of many recent press sensations concocted by Zillow.com, the Seattle-based real estate start-up funded by advertising but powered by sensational, albeit utterly mindless gossip.
Other recent revelations from the Zillow press release team:
* The White House, which is not and has never been listed for sale, could be worth as much as $308,058,237.19 if it were. And as huge as that imaginary number might be, and as carefully-extracted as it must have been from a Zillow statistician's rectum, nevertheless that number would have been even $23 million higher a year ago. And while reporters might be wondering how far 308 million dollar bills would stretch, if you placed them end-to-end, Zillow's crack team of mathematicians-on-crack have taken on an even more impressive challenge: How much would the White House be worth on Jupiter?
* Ever wonder which celebrity Americans might want to live next door to, if there were no such thing as physics, economics and burly security details? Zillow didn't just Read more
Can a man save his face, his ass, and his house at the same time? The moral and Big Board gods claim naught. But still, rooting through the year end financial rubble atop my desk—the economic equivalent of the Gaza Strip, I consider the question (pondering Realtor that I am).
I tally my Christmas card total while I search the mail pile for fellow holiday survivors. I uncover just three scant acknowledgements this dim Season; one from my parents with a modest check enclosed (made out to my wife, of course); one from my daughter with a nice handwritten note; and one from our missing housekeeper. The latter is a nativity scene, written in Polish, and sent to our house via Air Mail. I’m assuming it either says ‘Merry Christmas!’ or ‘I Quit!’ We haven’t seen her in weeks. Perhaps she moved back to her motherland where she can actually make ends meet scrubbing floors. I suppose she just resigned before we had to let her go anyway. (I mean really, who can’t keep their own house clean?)
I turn back to the task at hand and continue sifting through the pulp, avoiding paper cuts, and careful to sidestep 2nd Notices from lesser, non FICO reporting insurgents; my dentist, the Chicago Tribune Classified Section, the lawn service guy who never picked up my leaves this year. I hear a mutter beneath the wrack before electronically mine-sweeping my Schwab account to stave off the more formidable creditors for yet another 40 days and nights (with Grace Period); Bank of America Mortgage, BMW Financial Services, my genius accountant.
I look again at the three lone Seasons Greetings and reflect. I haven’t physically written, licked, stamped or sent out an actual Christmas card in years—not to family, not to friends, not to clients. I’m surprised I receive anything in the mail at all, to be honest. Between Twitter, Facebook, and Harry and David, all I seem to do anymore is Text and order online. Like an iPhone crackwhore, I find myself scrolling the cyber alleys for expired listings and below market abandominiums. It has to Read more
2008 rocked! Yeah, the economy tanked, but I do believe that crisis means opportunity so I’m not sweating that right now- I’m looking for ways to make the best of this situation.
Professionally, this year has been productive. That shouldn’t be misunderstood to mean that I’m swimming in transactions, because I’m not. But I’m not in debt and I’ve grown professionally through some experiences. Due to my own failure to communicate, I experienced a painful wake-up call from some clients while I was at BHBU in Orlando. What can you do when you are 1000 miles away? If you are me, you stop what you are doing and communicate. And communicate. And communicate. And you do what you need to do to make things right- and I have. And then you take a drive to Coco Beach with your husband and have one of the most wonderful dinners of your life. I’m grateful for clients that let me know their thoughts and let me work to fix things. So now I’m stronger, smarter, and more prepared than I’ve ever been- that’s progress, that’s productive.
For many reasons, mostly of my own creation, I have never been focused on my business the way I need to be. This fall a family situation changed and suddenly I had the opportunity to see things a bit more clearly. Uninterupted time is now mine. Goals? Time management? Focus? It’s mine all mine! And now I can take the tools, tips, and techniques I’ve been surrounding myself with and slowing honing and really get to work. This is good. This is very good. 2008 rocked but 2009 should be slamming and if it’s not, I’m hanging up my license.
This was a dog’s year for being online. It was amazing to meet so many people on twitter, at conferences throughout the year, and through emails. And to all the people who have vented publicly and privately about BloodhoundBlog, thank you. I’m a better and stronger person because of you, I hope each of you can say the same.
Greg Swann, this week, and this post, this post, and this Read more
I attended a Christmas dinner party earlier this week. It followed the script of most such dinner parties, which is to say: it was remarkable – the same way almost all social gatherings turn out to be remarkable. They start slow: a few people in various corners of the living room, their conversations hushed and directed at the same person who accompanied them through the door not ten minutes earlier. Then the wine is opened, some appetizers are laid out and enough people show up that a tipping point occurs. As if by design the conversation hubs begin to move, some groups grow in size while others diminish, strangers are pulled in and couples become less dependent upon each other. Eventually, the dinner is served and new friends engage in cross conversations around the table. It is a predictable, if not awkward transformation leading to a unique treasure each and every time.
This party was no different. I sat down on the couch and was soon engaged in a wonderful conversation. Forced to guess her age I would say sixty, but she could have been seventy and she could have been fifty. She was well traveled and she was observant. It was easy to sense a certain wisdom in her person and I was fascinated. She had recently returned from a trip to Europe and exuded a confident happiness that intrigued me. “What’s the secret?” I asked. She looked at me for a moment, trying to gauge whether I would understand her answer I supposed, then replied, “I iron my clothes now.” She could see in my face that I was confused and I could see in hers that she had gauged correctly. “Over in Europe, people still care,” and she went on to explain how Europeans were more considered in the clothes they wore and how they looked. This appealed to her in comparison with the casualness prevalent in America. So… now she irons her clothes every morning. It requires a little extra time and a little extra effort but it makes her day special.
I thought about that conversation all the Read more
This is just for fun:
Here’s wishing all of us — contributors, commenters, subscribers and the ninety-and-nine — happy and healthy holidays and the best year yet in 2009!
One of the things you may not know about me is that I have two passions that most of my online friends do not see. I love to cook. I also love to sing (in a choir, where my mediocrity has a hiding place-grin). I particularly get a thrill out of Christmas carols. They are important markers of time and immovable objects for me in a life that changes at a frenetic pace.
My favorite Christmas carol? I heard the bells on Christmas day. Yet it was only yesterday that I took the time to learn the backstory behind Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, it’s lyricist. Here’s a version of it from The Carpenters on YouTube.
I recommend a quick overview of his life here. I admire the man.
Much of the best writing in life comes from the dark place that is tragedy. What was going on in Longfellow’s life as penned the words “For hate is strong and mocks the song, of peace on earth, goodwill to men.”? The war between the states. His own son was severely injured in the war and would be maimed for the rest of his life. What else was going on? He was grieving the loss of his beloved wife in a tragic fire that took her life and, (in his efforts to save her), burned him severely. The beard that Longfellow is known for reportedly came from the fact that he could no longer shave due to those burns. This happened in 1861.
The loneliness and darkness of the death of his wife along with the despair of the war were the backdrop for the poem that later became the carol. From those dark Civil War days of sadness and loss, came the beautiful words: “Til ringing, singing on it’s way the world revolved from night to day.” “The wrong shall fail, the right prevail…with peace on earth, goodwill to men.”
Since we are REALLY good at procrastinating sending cards… From the real TeamEric to each of you:
We wish you “Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men.” Merry Christmas. And here’s to a successful 2009 for Read more
BloodhoundBlog: Will Pulitzer Come Calling?
The BloodhoundBlog is a phenomenon; read it and you’ll become addicted to the prose, the passion, and the gem-like jewels of news. It now has a cult following and it has achieved pinnacles of success in online media. But will Pulitzer’s new criteria open the door to the likes of the “dawg??”
More here on the Pulitzers.
It is obvious by now that the best writing in the world is being written for electronic media only. Excepting Geno, we wouldn’t qualify for any awards anyway, but it remains that the Pulitzer committee is not quite ready to tiptoe the whole way into the twenty-first century. It is stretching itself only so far as to consider prose that is being committed to pretend paper. If you can hang in cyberspace without clinging in craven desperation to atoms — even purely imaginary atoms — your talents will not be considered. The Pulitzer Prize will remain a celebration of obsolescent relics by irrelevant antiques. Sic semper tyrannosauris.
First, Tom Johnson shares this treasure:
In light of yesterday’s discussion of education in China, a recent version of the Shift Happens/Did You Know? video?
And here is a nice timewise illustration of the shift that has always mattered most to the United States: