Monthly Archives: February 2015

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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Priorities come, priorities go. My attention gets swept away to other things that feel important at the time. The one thing you can count on is that by Thursday at least there things will have throughly annoyed me. It’s comforting, like the steady ticking of a metronome. Every week. There it is.

1. Typhoid Mary. In the early part of the last century Mary Mallon was arrested and isolated as a known carrier of typhoid responsible for infecting at least 51 people with the then considered deadly disease. I introduce Mary as a reminder that if you’re sick enough to be hacking up a lung and generally sound and look like warm death, you’re sick enough to keep your ass at home. “I don’t think I’m contagious” or “I’m feeling better” aren’t good enough cover when you want to get all up in everyone’s personal space coughing out whatever version of plague you happen to be carrying. It may surprise you to discover that none of us are as indispensable as we might think we are. The world will most assuredly go on turning if we spend a few extra days on the couch, so don’t be shy about using a little time to feel better. If you won’t do it for our own sake, how about doing it for the people that get to share your recirculated air?

2. The internet. Despite that it provides the venue for any number of things that I enjoy doing, I’m currently finding the internet more of a giant time suck than usual. I need it not to be. There are things I really would like to get done – aside from being driven to distraction by pictures of cats and being tempted to read every scrap of information ever imagined by the human mind.

3. Sleep. Actually lack of sleep. The last two nights have been post-midnight bed times due to the issues discussed in Weekly Annoyance #2. As much as it pains me to admit it I need a good, solid night of going to bed early and staying there for about 12 hours. Likelihood of that happening any time soon: 0.00%.

Do what you love…

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For the third time in as many days I’ve seen or heard the phrase “do what you love and the money follows.” How many times have we told someone coming up in the world to just “do what you love?” The sentiment is fantastic. It would be a Christmas miracle if we could all get up every day and spend hours doing what we love.

Now if someone could just point me in the direction of the organization that wants to pick up the tab for sitting on the couch episode binging, absentmindedly rubbing Maggie’s ears, and drinking coffee that would be great. Please submit your sealed bids no later than February 28th for your offer to receive full consideration. All offers should include base salary, bonus and incentive scale, insurance, and retirement information. I can assure you that I would be a super conscientious employee and always give 100% to the job.

But yeah. Go do what you love looks great on motivational posters, coffee mugs, and refrigerator magnets… but when the market pays $0.00 an hour for doing what you love, my friendly recommendation is to go ahead and do something else for a while. You might not love it, but at least you won’t starve.

Powers of procrastination…

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I don’t talk much about it because I’ve never considered it one of my finer qualities, but truth be known I have world class powers of procrastination. All those powers are currently being employed to distract me from pitching a wild, no way he’ll take it, ultra-lowball offer at the owner of one of the houses I looked at last night. Despite it’s rather quirky master bathroom and my natural aversion to home owner’s associations I’m having a bit of a flirtation with this place.

After getting word back through my agent this afternoon that the seller would “really like to get an offer and was willing to make considerable concessions,” I’ve been hard pressed to continue resisting the temptation. It’s a night of trying to remember that the place has been on the market for 2/3 of a year already and doesn’t seem likely to go anywhere in the next week, that even if it does something that’s just as charming will be along, and that even at it’s reduced price it’s a budget stretcher.

I’m procrastinating… with purpose. If I look around for another couple of weeks and this place is still sitting around, it seems to me that I’d be in a stronger negotiating position – especially since the only thing I stand to lose is something that was never mine anyway. For now, I’m just going to let it ride.

Trip Report – House Hunting Day #2

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Following hot on the heels of this weekend’s formal kickoff of House Hunt 2015, this afternoon saw another dash around the county to look at three more houses. I shall call them The House Next Door, The Revenge of the Tub, and the House Not Appearing in this Post.

The House Next Door isn’t actually next door. It’s at least 500 yards away on the other side of the street. Weighing in at 4 beds and 2 baths, this very well put together Cape Cod style home offered a touch over an acre, a two car garage, a large screened porch, and more storage than three of me could use. Aside from questioning whether one of the bedrooms really counted, it was a nice enough place. The house was solid. The kind of thing you’d imagine seeing if you told someone to draw a picture of a house. Even at an acre, the lot felt a bit crowded to the left and right. It’ll be a nice place for someone, but I don’t think it’s my huckleberry.

Sigh. The Revenge of the Tub. It’s beautiful. The kitchen is twice as big as my first apartment and is spot on in fit and finish. The whole house was simply beautiful, ticking off everything on my want list except for a back yard fence. It was perfection, right down to being structurally overbuilt by any reasonable standard. I’m pretty sure the current owner had visions of a basement bunker when he shored up the basement. With a good solid door you could hold off the zombie apocalypse in that place. The problem is, that like one of Day 1’s contestants, the master bath just has a giant tub situated beneath a bank of windows. If a guy wants a morning shower he’s got to schlep down the hall to the guest bath. It just seems ridiculous given the amount of money you’re spending and the fact that there’s a bathroom right there off the master. Then the issue of the Home Owner’s Association – who exercise supreme executive authority over everything right down to the location of exterior lights to the height of the fence you’re allowed to install. My innate western Maryland hillbilly resentment of anyone who wants to tell me what to do on my own property is maybe a bigger factor here than the inconvenience of going down the hall as part of the morning routine. Even with those reservations, the place is a serious contender.

The House Not Appearing in this Post is aptly named because the lock didn’t work so we weren’t able to do much more than eyeball the outside and peep through the windows. It’s probably for the best. No matter how well put together it was going to have a hard time standing up to the place we just left.

I’m sure there will be more to follow later in the week.

Trip Report – House Hunting Day #1

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Saturday was House Hunting trip #1. There locations were on the menu – I’ve affectionally named these properties The Tub, Hill Climb, and Suicide Exit, respectively.

The Tub was a nice enough Cape Cod with 2 and 2. Needed some paint, some stain on the deck, and someone who knew something about yard work to take the place with a firm hand. I could have made it work well enough. The emphasis there was on “could.” Then there was the issue of the namesake “tub” in the upstairs bathroom – a tub that I can only think was ordered using “how big a jetted tub can we squeeze up the steps” as a planning factor. Not that I’m opposed to large jetted tubs. I’m just opposed to them when all other “conveniences” of the privy are relegated to afterthoughts and I’d need to trek downstairs and to the other side of the house every morning just to find a shower. Pass.

Hill Climb looked promising… on the map. I believe it was labeled as “on a bluff overlooking a creek.” What the description left out was that you’d have to have 4 wheel drive and willingness to follow a 30% grade dirt track to reach the house. Probably OK in the summer, but anything worse than a good frost would leave you stranded indefinitely. Pass.

Suicide Exit. Ah, the most alluring of the three potentials I wandered through yesterday. Curb appeal to spare, privacy, and a long stretch of creek in the back that eventually turns into the Elk River. It was exceptional – the kind of place I would buy if I were settling in to look for a place to fade into the twilight. Sadly, the musty smell of leeching water in the basement and damned near killing myself trying to back out of a blind driveway onto a winding country road are not insignificant or inexpensive issues to overcome. It’s a shame, really, because it was the kind of quirky post-war house I really like. For now I’m keeping it on the list because I’d really like to see the place when spring comes to Ceciltucky. For now, though, it’s a pass.

So ends the first day of house hunting. I’ll try to hit three more tomorrow afternoon if the light holds out.

In case you’re wondering, yes there are pictures, but I’m not feeling up to stripping out the geotagging information, so for the time being you’ll be forced to rely on your imaginations. It’ll be good for you. It’s how we use to do things in the olden days.

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. Creeping middle age. I’ve always been ok with going to bed sore. That was just the sign of a good productive day. Now that I’m waking up with sore shoulders, a sore back, sore hips, and even more tired than I was when I went to bed. I vaguely remember a time when sleep was restful. I wonder if it ever will be again.

2. When it’s too good to be true. At two acres of sweeping, manicured lawn, the back third naturally wooded, and a house that looked like every piece of it was designed by a master craftsman, I wondered a bit at the price point. I assumed it was a murder house or something. Under the circumstances I don’t think that would have been a deal breaker. What was a deal breaker, however, was pulling the zoning map and discovering that the property backed up to a large open field… that was designated as a dumping ground for the material that was dredged dredged out of the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. According to nice folks at the EPA, this practice has led to a bit of contamination of the local groundwater sources. Sure, the state is going to pipe in municipal water, but there’s just something disagreeable about living next door to a site that probably a few regulatory changes away from being eligible for Superfund. Remember kids, when it sounds too good to be true, it’s just a matter of figuring out why. In this case, I’ll just blame the Corps of Engineers… at least it’s a feeling I’m use to.

3. Being the middle man. I find myself caught at least once a week between the demands and desires of my local management and the corporate guidance I receive from “oh high.” Occasionally it would be nice if those two groups ever wanted the same thing. As it is, I mainly find myself in the service of two masters. From long experience I know the reality of things is that it’s generally best to follow the lead of the boss closest to you. They’re the one who can cause the most pain or dispense favor with the most largesse… but the reality is when you find yourself serving two masters you’re not serving either particularly well.

The search is on…

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This little project to find a new and improved Casa de Jeff is beginning to get serious. How you know it’s getting serious is I’m altering the long-established Saturday routine in order to fit in meeting with a realtor and checking out a few potential houses. Between now and then I supposed I’ll have to firm up my list of must have options and the list of things I’m willing to trade away. Right now the must have list is pretty short – 1+ acre, 3 bed, 2 bath, and not in needing a gut-to-the-studs renovation. The willing to trade list includes central air, garage, and basically everything else. I like to think I won’t be picky or overly demanding, but I think we all know that’s a pipe dream.

Judging from the few places I’ve driven past to eyeball in the last few weeks, I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that the dollar doesn’t stretch as far here in the Baltimore/Philly exerbs as it did in West Tennessee. I’m doing my best to adjust my expectations on fit and finish accordingly… on the bright side for you readers, very soon you’re going to be able to play along with my little game of taking pictures inside other people’s homes and wondering what the hell they were thinking with their design and decorator choices. That’s always a treat.

In the meantime, if I seem to get in too much of a rush, feel free to remind me that there is absolutely no timeline associated with reaching mission complete on this project. The plan is mostly to keep plugging away at it and hope I know it when I see it.

It’s time we stop pretending…

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At some point the civilized world is going to have to wake up. They’re going to have to wake up and face the fact that the only way we win the Global War on Terror is to kill the terrorists. Hunt them down and kill them where they live, where they run, and where they hide. It’s not the job of days or weeks. It’s not the job of years. It’s a job that will only be completed out over decades and generations.

I have no quarrel with people of faith, but I have every quarrel with a small group who douse their hostages in gasoline and then set them alight. I have every quarrel with a group who believe beheading aid workers will put them in good stead with their version of an Almighty. I have every quarrel with those who publish videos of those acts online as a valedictory. I have every quarrel with those who think now is a time for talking, or appeasement, or retreat in the face of these barbaric attacks.

I’m finished with compromise. I’m finished with pretending that this lot is just another irritant in a world full of troubles. Wrestling these into submission is the war that will define the 21st century. It’s time anyone with even the barest shred of humanity stop pretending we can continue to allow these blood-soaked savages to coexist in our world.

Information overload…

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The problem with the internet is it puts every little thing you want to know right at your fingertips. Sure, that’s also the very best part of the internet, but that’s not the side of the coin I’m dealing with just now. In the opening stages of House Search 2015, I’m finding some decent places – or at least places to start… but then my damned inquisitive mind starts to wander.

It wanders to issues of property tax and leads me to the state government websites. It wanders to issues of boundaries, zoning, and planned nearby development which leads me to the county planning website. It skips towards flooding and hazard mitigation which leads me to FEMA’s notoriously inaccurate maps. And then there are the pictures – The fuzzy ones taken by the realtors and then on to the satellite imagery, bird’s eye views shot from airplanes, and Google’s evil car cam. As a side note, Google has not yet reached many the back roads of Ceciltucky. I find it oddly comforting that they actually don’t know everything.

I know more or less what I’m looking for in a house. I’ve moved enough to know what I like, what I don’t, and the fact that it’s all one enormous compromise in order not to totally blow the budget. I suppose it’s time to bring on a professional to help me narrow the scope a bit. From what I gather the good ones make pretty decent coin for sifting through the data I’ve been trying to manage on my own for the last few weeks.

I have to keep telling myself it would be a shame to just hand over their commission without really putting them through their paces to earn it.

Spectacle…

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Since I don’t yet live in a cave sequestered from human contact, I switched over to the game in time to see the halftime show. Say what you’d like about Americans in general, but I have to admit we put on pointless spectacle better than any other group of people I know. Most other places on the planet seem content with having a sporting event, a concert, or a fireworks display at completely different times.. but not us, my fellow Americans. No, not us. We want it all crammed into one very telegenic package so we can consume it all at once.

I’m not at all sure if that makes me proud or fearful for the future of the republic.