patrick.net

My story would have ended like Orwell’s 1984, but with surfer-x huffing the bong and listening to Hendrix. “He loved Big Boomer.”

. :lol: :lol: :lol:
The horror.....

If Raymond Chandler were alive today...

It was a typical hot, hazy L.A. summer day. There was a desert wind blowing --one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curls your hair and makes your nerves jump and your skin itch. From my office window, you could see construction cranes going in all directions. Condo towers were popping up all over town like lawn mushrooms after too much rain.

I was just about to reach for the bottle of tequila I’d brought back from San Felipe when she walked in.

From thirty feet away she looked like a lot of class. From ten feet away she looked like something made up to be seen from thirty feet away. She had on a cheap designer suit, one of those Chanel knock-offs, and a fake Gucci handbag. Her dyed-blonde hair was spray-plastered into a shoulder length bob. The color suggested a highlight attempt gone awry. The overall effect said “porcupine”. She had a diamond brooch in the shape of a $ and a silk scarf around the neck. She was as cute as a gold-plated washtub.

She was a Realtor™, of course. The kind of dame that would drink all my booze, smoke all my cigarettes and then walk away sober. As if her appearance alone weren’t repellant enough, then she opened her mouth like a fire bucket and started the sales pitch.

“Are you busy?”
“No, but for you I can make the effort.”

Her eyes rounded. She was puzzled. She was thinking. I could see, even on such short acquaintance, that thinking was always going to be a real effort for her.

I put the tequila back in the drawer, leaned back and just sat, not smoking, not speaking. For her, I was a blank man. I had no face, no meaning, no personality, hardly a name. I didn't want to talk, especially after she interrupted my drink. I sure as hell didn’t want to be around to hear what she had to say, but there I was… stuck.

I finally broke the ice: “What did you come for?"
“I wanted to see you about a great investment opportunity.”
“Who sent you?”
“Your ex-wife.”
“Figures.”
“Have you considered your future –I mean, retirement-wise?”
“No.”
“Well, you should. You know that real estate is a can’t-lose investment.”
“Is that a fact?”
“You bet! Gary Watts says it’s guaranteed to go up another 15% this year!”
“And what do you base that on?”
“It’s gone up at least that much every year for the past 5 years.”
“Do you drive looking through your rear-view mirror?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Never mind.”
“Also, they’re not making any more of it.”
“Uh, hmmm…”

I thought about the tequila in my drawer, and then I thought about the gun in my other drawer, and then I thought again. What was the penalty for shooting a Realtor these days?

“Sooo… I take it you’ve got something to show me.”

She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket. Right in my wallet. She pulled out a thick leather binder and spread it open in front of me. It was crammed full of photos of overpriced condos and cookie-cutter stucco McMansions.

“You’re in luck. It so happens that things have slowed a bit recently and there’s plenty of prime properties to choose from.”
“Market slowing?”
She was momentarily taken aback, then stammered, “Why, no… it’s perfectly normal for this time of year. Things are just getting back to… normal.”
“I see.”

By this time, I had retrieved the tequila and poured myself a shot. I picked up the glass and looked at it and sighed. My hand trembled the way it does when I badly need a drink, and it is just right, and the first swallow is like a peek into a cleaner, sunnier, brighter world. Down the hatch.

“Ok, let’s get this over with. Show me what you’ve got that a recently-divorced private-eye with lousy credit can handle.”

She wrinkled her nose and frowned at that last comment. Her face said “disappointment”. She rolled her eyes and reluctantly pulled a couple of flyers from the bottom of the pile. I looked them over.

I said, “This one’s a shabby 40-year old mobile home. The other one’s a 90-year old crack house in Compton. And what the hell makes it worth a million bucks?”
“Well, you have to live somewhere.”
“I already live “somewhere”. I’m currently renting a three-bedroom bungalow in Beverly Hills for $1600 a month.”
“Renting is just throwing your money away.”
“Do you get your talking points directly from David Lereah or do they subliminally imprint this stuff on your brain?”
“Huh?”
“What I mean to say is, this appointment is over.”
She protested, “But I haven’t even showed you the beachfront property in Arizona!”
“If you don't leave, I'll get somebody who will.”
“At least let me show you some time-shares!”

By this time, I was already on my feet and in no mood to bargain. I think she sensed this, because she quickly grabbed her bag and beat a hasty retreat to the door.

“You don’t have to be that way, you know!”
“I know,” I said. “I’m “that” way just because I want to be.”

She stormed out in a huff. Out my window, I caught her leaping into a plush, black Lexus with gold leather upholstery. She hit the gas and roared off into the distance, leaving a billowy cloud of dust, rubber and exhaust fumes.

And like a blonde poltergeist, she was gone.

You're killing me, Harm.

Boomers will figure out a way to continue to vote from beyond the grave. Perhaps by stacking courts? No, that could never happen here.

heh heh

Actually, the boomer demograpic is the 'pig in the python' - what will happen to supply and demand when they all shuffle off their mortal coils over the next 10-20 years, leaving an anorexic population pyramid behind? And no matter how long they live, they'll be moving into retirement homes, hostels and nursing homes at the very least...

The longed-for political input is at MY blog, www.housingaffordability.blogspot.com. Oops, wrong country. Still, I have the ear of the local Ministry of Housing, the city Mayor, etc, etc, because they so heartily support the idea of a participative democracy, you can tell when you meet them, never mind that the lobby is always full of property developers with bulging briefcases as you go out...

Also, see the 'dark matter' theory of the US economy (and all the others with housing booms - http://www.oecd.org/dataoecd/41/56/35756053.pdf)

http://johnquiggin.com/index.php/archives/2005/12/22/dark-matter/
http://www.cid.harvard.edu/cidpublications/darkmatter_051130.pdf