Terminal-ology

A description from one of my sold listings follows:

This convenient 2 family in the desirable West End features newer vinyl siding, new replacement windows, new heating and hot water systems, updated electric, as well as a pristine and just renovated second floor unit along with other bonuses. Enjoy great rent potential in a home that is close to public transportation and area amenities.

Ya see what we got there? Keep it in mind as we digress...

Back in the day when I was a lad, a friend came to me and asked wouldst I proffer to him my time and disposition to make success of a double date. His plan was to go bowling; he with his "amour" on their third foray and I, well, she has a cousin, a cousin who was visiting, I may have surmised from the "farm". Naturally, I asked of the pertinent qualities and he responded with, "She's great...she's a really nice person, fun to be around...she's got a great personality."

I passed on the blind date. I figured that if the best asset to be offered was the fun-to-be-around, great personality, then I might as well get it on with Ronald McDonald because at least he wears a balloon nose over his ugly face.

I bring this up because, in fact, many years later I saw that blind date. She was with my friend. My friend catches me in a Bruegger's and calls me over to meet his wife, a local TV personality, and the conversation went like this:

"XXXX, this is my friend, Al....Al, this is my wife, XXXX (although, if you watch the weather, I think you know that."
"Pleased," I say.
"You know, honey," my friend says, "This is the guy I wanted to set you up with when you first moved here." Hollow laughs all around.
"Well, I am glad he said 'No' ", she said and off they went.

A few days later I tagged him by phone:

"Yeah, so what was that," I inject, "You dumped the girlfriend and take up with the cousin?"
"Could have been yours, pal, could have been yours."
"Except you told me she was a dog...you told me she had a uhhh 'great personality'..."
"And she does..."
"But," I say, "With all due respect, why did you try to sell me on that bill of goods. I was twenty. You're selling me Emily Dickinson when I wanted to buy Sharon Stone, for crissakes."
"Well...you were a sensitive guy. I gave you sensitive..."

So what the hell is the point of this story? The point of this story is the wording. A "sell" word can well be terminal to a sale if not properly placed. Folks are wary of words; they can mean many things, and in most cases, they mean to dislodge and up end belief.

So it is with Real Estate descriptions and the words we use. I try not to use the buzz words -- buzz words create obfuscation. So herewith are some buzz words and what I feel they mean to a reader:

Cozy -- small

Close to Shops -- every rummy in town will piss on your privet hedges as he walks by on his way to the "Packy".

Unique -- stupid

Family room -- basement

Wet bar -- basement has a sink

Au pair -- basement has a bed where the owner's son used to hump his girlfriend

County like -- you will be mowing the lawn every day

Won't last -- it will be going to foreclosure soon

Meticulously maintained -- has not had a thing done to it since Eisenhower was in office

Quiet Street -- the town does not maintain it

Lots of storage -- wet basement

Open architecture -- you know when anyone goes into the can

Half bath -- they turned a closet into a "Throne Room"

Easy access -- it is on a main drag

Expandable -- you can finish the attic once you get the squirrels out of it

Tudor -- rooms in the attic

Old charmer -- Ugly

Historic -- previous owner was a sex offender

Great school -- high taxes

Desirable -- high taxes

Small town feel -- high taxes

Period detail -- rotten moulding

Sweat Equity -- you will never get it done; hire a contractor

MICRO economics in Belmont

It has been a long and dispiriting spring followed by a dismal summer that saw long time stores shutter up all around my little corner of the world. The Auto Parts guy in Cushing Square is in the process of pulling his spark plugs -- the EVERYTHING MUST GO sign screams across Common Street. No more can a soul buy fudge down Trapelo Road, and the print shop one passes on the way has run out of ink -- the building is now forlorn and for sale. An electrician has moved into the storefront that was once a takeout chicken joint: "I don't need a store front," he told me, "but the price was right." The old bookstore in the center of town

Of all the shuttered businesses about, the one that is most surprising is my maid: she stopped coming in June. For the better part of ten years, she had been mopping and wiping the the ne'er-do-well issue of my life, finding shoes I have left scattered about, washing dishes, putting the glow on my hardwoods, vacuuming out of the rug the evidence of my retreating hairline, and in general working her skill on those things and utilities about which modesty forbids description.

I did some "jungle drum" research into the woebegone circumstances...it appears she was illegal, I have been told. She was a regular traveller to and back from Brazil. As far As I can guess, she did the trip one too many times. I have been visited by at least seven "new" Brazilians, all claiming to be the extension of my maid's business. I have chosen none of them.

If the dismal summer taught me anything, it was a real lesson in MACROeconomics by way of the MICRO. You see, I have been sweeping the floors myself, mopping, putting away my shoes, and what nots, and doing exactly all the things I should have been doing in the first place. My home is tidy, fit for me, if not for a king, AND I am saving 63 smackers a week -- that's 63 bucks staying inside the US economy, yup 63 bucks a week that I will use here -- maybe an extra Trombone lesson for the kid, or maybe, after a year, well let us see -- that is almost $3,300 dollars! That is the down payment on that new Chevy Cruze that is going to be the hot car of 2011!

They say that illegals are doing jobs WE do not want to do. I say, they are doing jobs that need NOT be done. We are overly conspicuous in our consumption. We do not need some of the services we buy. As a cleaner, I am doing just fine, thank you...a few minutes a day here and there and I am at one with my home. I have reconnected with the nooks and crannies (and found things I should have discarded years ago not to mention things I should have held closer to my thoughts, but instead dumped behind the file cabinets). And, of course, there is the exercise; I am feeling fit and trim as I putter about the halls of the castle, deep-kneeing my way into the closets and squatting to swipe the dust from under the futon.

And I have begun to think -- what if we all cleaned our own homes, mowed our lawn lawns, did our own nails? In my corner of the world, the landscaper's truck and trailer is longer than the street frontage of many homes...do we really need their services? Are we so busy at the gym that we cannot find 15 minutes and get our exercise pushing the rotaries across the grass?

For me, I see a win win...my apparently illegal maid has left the country, a situation that most folks feel needs to be replicated 10 million more times...and I have a new stash of cash in my pocket. What to do with it?...a great economic question, stay tuned.