It's a Hustle My Darling

No one ever said life would be easy. There is no instruction manual or guidebook for our occupation of this world. Life is a gift to be enjoyed, not a problem to be solved. 

[nsb2717]

Smile Boston, We Were Given To Fly

Smile Boston, We're Given To Fly:

PART I of XI

***PLEASE NOTE: REVIEWS ARE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY...THIS IS NOT AN ACCURATE PORTRAIT OF THE CONCERT***

Real reviews of the show can be found elsewhere.

If you have misplaced your sense of humor or you are the type of person who barks back at dogs, please consult your doctor before reading further.

Due to massive hangovers in Boston, this review has been delayed. Because of lack of sleep and the wife not being super excited she couldn't attend, I don't have the time to complete this all right now....

Please enjoy.

Pearl Jam Fenway Park Boston, MA Tuesday,September 4th, 2018

Imagine your name is Albert, and your favorite fruit is bananas. You’re wearing a little space helmet, and the cutest midget sized space suit. You’re sitting inside a tin capsule strapped to a rocket ship.

You’re a nervous little monkey.

The anticipation of where you’re going and what you are going to see is electrically terrifying yet exciting. At the same time, in your peanut size rhesus brain is firing on all cylinders. What are you about to see? What are you about to hear and feel and experience. You have no idea what's about to happen, you think to yourself, you’re just a dumb monkey that got stuck in trap and sent to NASA for flight school. WOOOOAAAAAAH FUCK YOUR BRAIN TOUCHES THE BACK OF YOUR SKULL as the rocket ship explodes from the ground.

The g-forces press your face flat to the back of your ears as the boosters vibrate your chest and pound you relentlessly like a teenager beating his dick for the first time.

You just got shot into space you little son-of-a-bitch!

Given To Fly begins with a steady thump of a riot with Matt and Jeff fueling the fire and counting us down to the launch. By the time the waves come crashing like a fist to our jaws, we have been shot like a rocket ship into the black starry sky above Fenway Park, just like that dumb monkey who had no idea what to expect.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgQUoqa1FVs

Will the boys wine us and dine us once again, before running a gangbang 69 train on the entire crowd, or would they sink their teeth into our flesh and crack open our skulls to eat our brains.

If this first song was any indication of what fuckery the band had cooked up for us, we were in for a long and memorable flight.

"Captain Vedder has turned OFF the seatbelt sign and you are now free to dance around the ballpark. In the event of loss of cabin pressure, grab your neighbors ass and hold on for dear life. The flight from Fenway to the Moon will last approximately 3 hours."

Don’t look down, because we’re 30,000 miles high and climbing.

Given to Fly was the perfect opening to Night 2 and it was clear Mike was laser focussed on his playing despite, or perhaps because of, the “drugs” he took for his infection. He is infected for the record, he has the fever as Ed so easily pointed out.

If night one was our prim and proper first date, night two was our sloppy drunk make out session in the back of the club rolling on ecstasy, and just like that, The Band is furiously fingerbanging us with 1,2,3,4,5 against one.

The bass playing of Jeff on Animal can only be truly experienced when you’re standing 5 feet from the king kong sized ding dong speakers I was standing next to. The red flags for what I was getting myself into should have gone up when the security personnel started putting on ear muffles designed for nuclear explosions.

If you watched any of my Live FB feeds, you’ll notice that the pounding of Jeff’s bass and Matt’s drums were loud enough to blow out the mic on my cell phone. Imagine getting kicked in the chest repeatedly for three hours by a 10 foot Minotaur with anger issues.

Now... I’m not going to be so presumptuous as to think anyone from Pearl Jam & Company are secretly trolling my Facebook posts, but when you go from no Riot Act N1 and then a punk ass reviewer calls you out on it....and then the band pokes you in the eye with Save You, that’s either dumb luck or a funny coincidence, either way, I’m not even gonna use my words here and just let the band speak for themselves.....

"Gonna save you fucker, not gonna lose you, feeling cocky and strong, can't let you go, too important to me"

If you don’t know the rest, then you need to have a Google.

Save You was fucking sick, and executed with their flawless grudge fuck you style that we love them so much for. Comparatively speaking, there was no heavy petting from the boys like Night One, and similar to Night Two in Chicago they were going in hard, fast and dry. I feel deeply that the Chicago N2 show would have held up nicely with Fenway N2 had the flow of the evening not been disrupted by Zeus tossing lightning bolts up the fan's asses. Weather being a cantakerous cunt, Chicago N2 never fully materialized because it was forced to begin at a different place and so this feels like the show they should have gotten.

Pearl Jam is the Baskin Robbins of rock n roll groups. There is a song and a flavor for each and every one of us. You may not enjoy the cover tunes, however, I personally enjoy the fuck out of them and Arms Aloft has become a song over the last five years that has a special place because my kids LOVE this song. The addition of the ad-lib lyrics, “Arms a loft in Fenway Park” was a fun shout out to the fans. Not to mention it’s a Joe Strummer song. I mean. GTFO if you can’t manage to shake your ass to anything but Pearl Jam songs. Have some class and a little musical knowledge about your favorite band's favorite band. Pearl Jam’s favorite band isn’t themselves. Let THEM have some fun and play THEIR favorite songs for YOU and then.... DANCE BITCHES!

If you’ll kindly make your way across the tarmac, Captain Vedder has kamikaze crash landed this plane in a raging ball of fire and you’re gonna need a beer to put out these flames Goose.

You SHOULD be trying to catch your breath from jumping up and down to Arms Aloft. However, if not, Lighting Bolt comes from the sky... like a...um... well a lightning bolt. The newer songs get a bad wrap I think. I think Lightning Bolt is a great song. It’s got a great bouncy rhythm that manages to walk that precarious line between over produced pop single designed to sell albums with just enough edge to get away with being cool.

[Now, here once again, the coincidences are piling up. Save You, Arms Aloft, Lightning Bolt... next you’re gonna tell me they are gonna play I Am Mine, Smile and talk about ALS and then do Dirty Water. Yeah right... that’s crazy.]

Someone who doesn’t get enough love on a regular basis is Stone and I love that guy. When the high pitched winding opening of Red Mosquito kicks in, Stone fills in the sound with that rough sand paper fuzz of the mid-late 90′s.

There’s a subtle hit of blues and nice dose of Neil Young slathered all over that Dirty Red Mosquito, and it’s amazing. The wicked witch herself couldn’t crackle out a more even tone than Mike manages to slide into and out of. If this was the 1700′s, Mike surely would have been accused of witchcraft and burned at the stakes.

I can hear all our puritan counterparts now, bitching and complaining about not getting tickets to the witch burning in the town square.

Goode Abigale: “I say, Goode Rebecca, doth you acquire good fortune at that burning next Sunday?”

Goode Rebecca: “Aye, the proctor Thomas received notice of his place and they are behind the gallows”

Good Abigale: “Much shame, perhaps I may speak with Reverend Hekaziah, word has it his wife has rickets and cannot attend. Reverend Hekaziah is alway at the rail for a good witch burning

If Mike isn’t a witch, then he has certainly turned the tables on us and has lit us on fire. There’s only so much hot, flaming guitar wizardry you can take in your penis hole before you need penicillin.

So, after the first six songs, we’ve already been burned at the stake with puritan witches and shot into space like a tiny monkey. The Jam could leave me right here to die in the gutter and I’d be okay with it. PART II of XI

Like Ed will sing to us a little later in the night:

There's no wrong or right, but I'm sure there's good and bad

Up to this point in the Fenway Tour Closer,  there has only been good and that’s not bad.  Right?

After six incredible numbers, even Gods would be forgiven for taking a moment to catch their breath. Edward rewards us with greeting and a sip of red.   With zero love in FN1, Riot Act gets two songs in a set of seven.  Maybe someone IS reading this shit I’m writing.   Well stop weirdo, whoever you are, I am not a piece of meat.

I Am Mine is one of those slow burning rockers.  I Am Mine is the white hot coals at the end of bon fire.   You remember it being mellow and slow and then you see the replay and it twists your nipples inside out.    Happens every time.  I Am Mine is a flowering dogwood that gets lost amongst the taller redwoods.  It gets a little repetitive when I discuss a song and then say, “Mike went plaid”, but that’s kinda the world we live in today.   Ed sets it up with some poetic panty wetter and Mike cum’s on your wife’s tits with a earth destroying solo.    Not that I Am Mine is that song... but his solo in I Am Mine get’s lost... that’s all I’m saying.  I’m not looking for agreement here.  That’s just my perspective.  Do you want to discuss Mike blasting your wife’s tits or would you like to move on to the Lost Dogs track U? Alright... U it is.   What can you say?  I didn’t see it coming.   I’ve mentioned many times  am not familiar with Lost Dogs for the simple fact I collect vinyl and don’t own that record. However,  I will say,  I am familiar with U and I put this song in the same category as Down or Outta My Mind from N1.  Just a fun song for the band to play and let loose.    Song’s like U,  that fill out a repertoire and often get overlooked allow the guys  to back away from the heavy sets of Pearl Jam standards and have fun.   To me, you’ve got the standards, the B’s and the covers.   Purist only want the standards and the choice B sides.  These chebba-webba’s want to capture some unattainable perfect setlist, and they end up complaining about the show they DIDN’T get rather than the show that blew windows out of the apartments across the street.  People like me enjoy the cover’s, because I know this is a well respected, world famous band.  Them playing covers is them playing their favorite song for me.    You gotta respect that.    We’ll discuss respect in more detail when we get to Vitalogy.   *Don’t read that part Jacob Ruiz* If you weren’t already enjoying yourself, Even Flow is about to begin, is everybody in?  Hey frat boy...  you going to pee?  You’re gonna miss Mike fist fucking your brain, but whatever.   Prick.    I’ve seen it posted lately that a few fans are “tired” of hearing Even Flow, and like I mentioned in my last review I have no tolerance for these pillcocks.    To be honest, if we could put these people in a vault and fill it with water while Mike rips an Even Flow solo during their drowning last moments, that would be the perfect ending to their lives.  

Don’t pee during Even Flow, although, I will admit the irony is delicious.  I’m pretty sure Mikes’ Solo on Even flow got my wife pregnant once... which makes my child Immortal and a little different. Speaking of different Immortalities.... Mr. Vedder decided that we were more than special.   In fact,  as a tribute to the 1994 Orpheum Theatre show... (which was waiting on my doorstep when I arrive home)... Ed sang the ORIGINAL lyrics to Immortality, just like in 1994.     Now.   You may think to yourself... I don’t know the original lyrics and I like to sing along.   I’m going to just stop Mike McCready for a moment and interrupt his death solo, so I can toss you into the water vault with all the other twatwaffles who couldn’t tell greatness from dirty pair panties. Sweet Skinny Gandhi, it’s like I’m trying to convince a bunch of 8 year olds to turn off Paw Patrol and listen to Black Flag.  Pay attention you deadshits. 

What’s coming up next is both amazing and sad, because Taillights Fade is a great song by a local guy and some of you agelast douchnoggins are in the bathroom takin’ a piss rather than listening to some quality Jam.  You’ve already missed Even Flow and the Original lyrics to Immortality.   Why not just go home already and give your seats to a real fan?   Yes.   Bill Janovitz joined Pearl Jam on stage Sunday and this was a repeat, however, it’s a great song, and it’s very well done with Pearl Jam.  In fact, this version is about a good as you will ever hear, so I was MORE than happy to catch it twice.   Too bad some of you fergers were shakin’ the last drops from your tallywackers and missed it, I guess it was just not for you.   This was for me... and we may jump down a rabbit hole for a moment if you’ll indulge me.   On Sunday, I wore my Vitalogy shirt, and on Tuesday... I had several “FUCK ME” moments... like this one, when I wanted Mike and Ed to come running by so I could put my Vitalogy shirt over my head and get called out.   Vitalogy is my favorite album for sentimental reasons, but the BIGGEST reason is because Vitalogy was written for the fans and is a giant fuck you to the critics.   I get that you may not like the album as a whole or you may not like some of the songs, and it’s got some fucked up shit on it.  BUT... hear me out, IT WAS WRITTEN FOR YOU, the fans, and by extension of that edict... should be every fans favorite album.   If that makes sense.   Whatever.  Maybe I’ve had too many mushrooms to be writing this review. 

The Fenway N2 Not for You throws a couple funky things at us.  The first is Ed chanting, “LET’S GO RED SOX” towards the end.   As a Red Sox fan I was pretty close to jumping on stage, kidnapping Ed, running around the bases and sliding into home.    The Modern Girl tag is the first of many cry faces I made this night. 

Here I am, 42 years old.   Standing on the field I have been coming to see my whole life.  A place my grandfather brought my dad as a kid.   My dad, a former baseball player diagnosed with ALS and a finite time left on this earth.  

I’m GIFTED tickets to see my favorite band while standing in left field where Ted Williams once played.  Where Carl Yastrimski, Jim Rice, Ellis Burks, Mike Greenwell, and Al Simmons made diving plays and catches against the Greenmonster, and Eddie has the NUTS to play a Modern Girl tag.  

EDDIE VEDDER:  “When I was a kid.... MY WHOLE LIFE, looked a picture on sunny day.... ohhhhh.... my whole life, looked like picture on a sunny day.... ohhhh....my whole life, looked like a picture on a sunny daaaaayyyyyy

Part III of XI On the last Episode of As the Pearl Turns, grown men were sobbing on their friends like teenage girls with broken hearts.    It takes a big man to weep openly at a rock n roll concert.   It takes a bigger man to point out a giant bubble of snot and help their Pearl Jampanion dispose of that show booger.  (You know who you are).  Nothingman is the perfect song to lay your head on the partner and let it all out, while singing your every loving lungs out.    Nothingman is for everyone, and everyone one participates.   Even those of us choking out  the words between sobs and a waterfall of tears.   

We’re not even halfway through this show and you’d have to be heartless not to be a little emotional.   We haven’t even gotten to the SAD part yet.   

The good news is the boys have had just about enough of trying to make 30,000 people cry simultaneously, and they brought out the cow bell.   If you were unlucky enough to read my side-by-side review of the Wrigley shows, you’ll know that Can’t Deny Me didn’t immediately make me want to listen to it ever again.   After seeing it live in Chicago, I can honestly say, the band has fine tuned the song into a decent live tune.   Hopefully, they revisit the track in the studio to re-record after touring it.  It wasn’t the worst song they played in Wrigley N1.   The Fenway N2 version was better than Wrigley, however, compared to the full set list in Boston, it has the unfortunate luck of being the weakest song of the night September 4th.   

It managed to get the Fenway version of a golf clap which is a respectable feat.  Jeff and Matt seemed to be ready to break up this pity party with a good old fashioned DER-DER-DERerrn Dern-Dern-Dern.... BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP.....  At Home.....  you know the rest, at least, you better. 

If there are better fans in rock and roll, I don’t know of any.   Pearl Jam travel well.  Just like with all things in life you’ve got the casual observer and the extremist and in between is the marrow.   Pearl Jam fans come in all variants.

We all like to believe we are living in that dark, rich, red center.  For all intents and purposes I can honestly say I’ve never actually met a Pearl Jam fan I didn’t like, (except for that cockalorum in Charlotte who asked me to sit down during NOT FOR YOU) ***I don’t think he knew who I was***

So, perhaps those trolling shit-zippers we love to hate only exist in their mother’s basements behind a keyboard and they don’t actually venture out into the realm of the rest of us.   Betterman is a call to arms for each of us to sing together and come together and rejoice in the Jam that is Pearly. 

I’m going to make a request before this next song begins,  Let’s all take a deep breath, relax, expand your mind and let Michael Fucktavious McCready crawl inside your brain space.  

 It’s a beautiful thing.  It’s a beautiful day.   -Eddie Vedder Pink Pop ‘92

The vikings tell tales of monsters living in caves one thousand feet tall.  The Greeks and Romans all had myths of God’s and sea monsters rising up from the depths of the earth to rape volcanos and eat mountains.  On this night, I watched a man grow across the fifty foot video screen.  He kneeled before me just a few feet away and ate the cake of Alice expanding and enlarging to the highest heights.  He flexed and stretched the neck of his guitar the very limits to which the strings could possibly bend without ripping his fingers to unrecognizable trauma.  The walls of the Green Monster begin to bubble and peel from the scintillating heat vaporizing the living bones inside us.  Wave after wave of relentless punishment beating and pulverizing our organs and flesh into liquid human puddles..... 

I WOULD NOT EVER TOUCH YOU... HOLD YOU... FEEL YOU IN MY ARMS  EVER AGAIN...  

Part IV of XI up next Jammalammadingdongs

Part IV of XI Encore 1 Here’s the perfect time to take a piss.  Unless you’re in the pit... because it takes at least 5 minutes to get to the bathroom and back if you don’t hit heavy traffic.    I’ve been going to Fenway since I was 10 years old, so luckily I know the ballpark like the back of my dick.  Sorry... I was told I talk about by dick too much.   What else is familiar?  The back of my.... I don’t don’t it doesn’t matter.   I managed to make it from the rail to the bathroom and back to catch the middle of Thumbing My Way.   It’s probably a good thing I didn’t hear the beginning or it would have been another cry feast.    I’m sure some of you reading this may be thinking I’m a huge pussy, and you’re only partially correct.  There’s a backstory to all of this I’ll go into more detail with soon that will tie this all together.   In the meantime, Eddie is on stage so if you’ll kindly shut the fuck up and let me get back to crying like a woman with PMS that would be fantastic.    When the cell phone lights came out in Chicago, I was in awe.   When the lights when on at Fenway my knees buckled and I was having trouble breathing.  Imagine being on the field looking back at a view only a few could fathom.  Imagine all the people I have to thank.  Looking back at the people in the audience, I felt so small and thankful and lucky and grateful to all those people out there who loved me enough to send me to Boston to experience Pearl Jam.  Imagine that... Thank you.  That’s all I can say. 

As I’m standing there with my mouth wide open counting the stars before me, a very large gentleman with a space helmet hands me a paper cup as the first few notes of Crazy Mary begin to tune up.    Like anyone who has never had the experience of Crazy Mary live, I can tell you, it’s completely different when you’re handed a cup and the guy says, “He’s coming down.”   That giant son of a bitch might as well have meant Jesus fucking Christ was coming back from the dead to give me communion, because I literally went deaf after that and hear ZERO notes of Crazy Mary.    I had to watch a YouTube video of the concert to hear what I missed, because I’m standing there like a 5 year old about to meet Santa Clause.    I wish I had the video... Ed went left.   Which was wrong.   I was stage right, on Mike’s side.  

I’m not complaining.  I drank two beers with Peggy my Jampanion.  Peggy has a bad back and lost her husband two years ago.  She woke up at 2am and flew from Lexington > Louisville > DC > Providence then got on a bus then a train to join me at the rail.  Peggy is the coolest.  Don’t fuck with Peggy.  We’ll fight.  I’ve made no argument that my Pearl Jam penis is extra small.   I will say, I was at the Greenville 2016 Record Store Day show, which, up until Fenway N2 was the greatest show I’ve ever seen.  The ironic part is Comatose fucked up both shows.    It’s just not good people.  I’m sorry if it’s your favorite song, but let’s be honest, it’s a clunky, heavy footed, uneven trainwreck of a song.  Even when they manage to nail it... it still sounds like the fucked it up.   I’m not sure which Pearl Jam band member loves this song, but I feel like I want to have sit down with them about it and get the backstory.    In Greenville, it killed the boner faster than your mom walking on you banging the head cheerleader.  At Fenway, it wasn’t as bad, but... again... it’s always bad.   It was like your dad telling you he knows you’ve been stealing his Playboys.  Awkward for everyone.  All right, all right... enough with the awkward masturbation references. Can we just GO?  

Oh please don't go out on me don't go out on me now Never acted up before don't go on me now I swear I never took it for granted just thought of it now

Maybe Ed sensed he was losing us and needed to remind us that Vs. is like a delicious, unexpected blowjob.  We’re not going anywhere Ed, let’s just put the Avacado away until next tour.  Go was the start of two song Vs. block that lead into RVM. RVM is a classic driving song despite the actual driving reference.   Jeff’s steady bass pushes the song along at a head bobbing pace.  The crowd leans into RVM and swirls around the rising lyrics and whipping rifts of Stone Gossard.  There is no specific spotlight solo to take away from a full band experience.  This is a song that brings all 6 members into a crescendo and captures the attention of the entire audience as Matt pounds and pounds and pounds out the steady punch of the group effort.  There are Seven Songs left in this epic, and we have reached the end of Encore 1. Cheers....  Stay Tuned.   Same Pearl Jam Time Same Pearl Jam Channel

[nsb2717]

An Important Message from the Misunderstood

Four times yesterday, I was told, in a “relatively” polite manner: 

“You’ve got a fairly big ego.”

In the span of a few hours, four people managed to point out a fact that is abundantly clear to nearly 100% of the people whom I meet within the first 30 seconds.   So, kudos, to you four special people for your powers of perception. 

Aside from the blunt force delivery of that revelation, what I find most interesting about their comment is how misinformed the majority of people are about what exactly “EGO” is.  (Yes, it’s a preposition... sue me)

You see, most people never accept what drives their ego.  They never introspectively seek out the energy that feeds their motivation.  To put it in cosmic terms, they are “unawakened”.

The German philosopher Eckhart Tolle explains, “Unless you know the basic mechanics behind the workings of the ego, you won’t recognize it, and it will trick you into identifying with it again and again”.  He goes on to say, “You cannot fight against the ego and win...Ego is an identification with form, primarily, thought forms”. 

Right now, you may be asking yourself, “What in the fuck, is this guy talking about”?

When we are born, we have no ego.  There is no sense of “I” or “Me or “My”.  As we move into childhood, things begin to have value and that value can often be misaligned with who we are.  We have all witnessed a toddler lose their collective shit because a toy or blanket was taken away.  What we, as adults, see as overreacting to an object, is, in fact, a very real, deep sense of loss to the child.  The object is something the child has come to value as part of who they are. Inside their undeveloped mind, the loss of that object is a loss of themselves.  

I’ve lost my blanket and therefore I’ve lost myself, and part of who I am.

And while you may brush aside that concept and think as you move into adulthood you will have a higher understanding of the importance of “things”, what is truly happening is that you are being tricked by your ego.  In fact, that sense of loss the child experiences only increases and becomes more inherent in adulthood.  

Take a moment to look around your home or office and take inventory of the things around you.   How many of those things have value to you?  How many of those things do you identify with?  How many of those family heirlooms would you be devastated to lose in a fire?  Then, ask yourself how many of those things would not be valuable to anyone else.   They are only things.   They have no value.   

Your ego has tricked you into believing they are worth something.  Even expensive paintings or jewelry only have value which is placed on it by someone else.   Money itself is only paper, and yet the value of it is determined by the government or measured by the things it can buy you.   The loss of all your possessions would not inherently change who you are. You can only lose something that you have.  You cannot lose something that you are.

The key in dealing with ego is to always be conscious of what is driving it’s need.  Everyone has an ego that is driven by some aspect of their personality.  

Everyone you meet is wearing the costume of ego.  Yet, very few people can wholly see themselves for who they truly are.  Here’s a hint, it’s not the costume you’re wearing.    I point this out because, as those four perceptive individuals mentioned, I have a rather large ego.   However, each one of them would be hard pressed to identify who I am or what my motivations are.  They can point their fingers and politely insult me with an uneducated guess as to why I do or say the things I do. 

The argument from them is that my “Ego” will cost me money or clients or deals.   Which might be true.   I may lose a client if they don’t agree with something I say on social media.  I might lose my job.  I might lose people I know.   

On the other hand, do I really want to work with someone I can’t agree with?  Do I really want to be friends with someone whom I can’t have an intelligent debate?  Should I care if people choose to “unfriend” or “unfollow” me? Am I willing to sell my soul for a commission?  The answer is no thank you. 

Conversely, for every potential client who disagrees with me, is another client who sees the honesty behind the ego.  They appreciate the brutality of my truth as a positive and realize I won’t sugar coat the smoke the others are blowing up their ass.  I am as open and honest about everything here in a public forum as I am in real life.  Ask my wife.

Over the years, I’ve taken the time to look deep into my own skull to realize I’m not willing to compromise who I am to please everyone.  It simply cannot be done. I’m a vastly complex individual who does not have the patience to force others to accept me.  

Yes, I do have a big ego.  I see it and try to understand as clearly as humanly possible.  I know who I am.  At least, I know I am working to understand who I am.  

However, who I am is not important or relevant to who you are or what you think of me, to which I have no control.  

[nsb2717]

A Charlotte Work of Art

If you like obscure television trivia, I've got one that kills during polite chit chat.

In 1984, at the height of the show's success, Miami Vice actor Philip Michael Thomas coined the pop culture phrase "E.G.O.T" when he told a reporter hoped to win an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar and a Tony in the next five years.   He even went so far as to have the acronym engraved on a gold pendant he wore around his neck, a move parodied by Tracy Morgan on the NBC hit 30 Rock. 

Thomas is still waiting for those nominations to come in, btw. 

An EGOT is the grand slam of Hollywood awards and it stands to reason the list of winners is short.  Just twelve people in history have won the four highest prizes in show business, Richard Rodgers (1962), Helen Hayes (1977), Rita Moreno (1977), John Gielgud (1991), Audrey Hepburn (1994), Marvin Hamlisch (1995), Jonathan Tunick (1997), Mel Brooks (2001), Mike Nichols (2001), Whoopi Goldberg (2002), Scott Rudin (2012), and Robert Lopez (2014).  Of this list, only two, Moreno and Hayes, won the Emmy, Oscar and Tony awards for acting. 

The other twelve won their EGOTs for a mixture of writing, directing, spoken word, composing, best song or, in the case of Whoopie Goldberg, who won her Emmy as a talk show host rather than as an actress. 

This morning on my way to meet with Michael Katopodis, a Charlottean, and an independent financial advisor, it occurred to me that Michael could be the first person to win an honor just slightly more coveted than an EGOT.   With the addition of my new blog to the avalanche of social media content I produce, I am the owner and producer of three Charlotte based projects.   The Charlotte Landmark Series, Portrait/ Profiles and It's a Hustle My Darling (Blog).    I'm calling this award the CLaSBPop.  Pronounced ‘Kl’ass-BUH-Pop’.  Don't forget to annunciate the 'Buh' sound.   It's tough like German, but you gotta get that 'BUH' in there, otherwise, what the hell am I even doing?

Michael Katopodis, if you don't already know, is a living work of Art.  No, seriously.  His grandfather is Art Katopodis, more famously known for his Dilworth restaurant Art's BBQ.  In 1943, Art Katopodis left Greece fleeing the Nazi's and came to the United States to start a family.   In 1962, he developed his BBQ sauce and in 1974 he opened Art's BBQ on Morehead St.

For year's, I tried to get the right angle on the Art's BBQ sign to include it in my Charlotte Landmark Series.   Unfortunately, the old sign I remember as a kid was replaced before I started this project, so it was difficult to capture the "landmark" feel.  About five or six years ago, I did take the following photo of the 'BREAKFAST-LUNCH' mural on the side of the building, however, there's nothing to indicate that it's Art's place, and for that simple reason, I’ve never officially included it in the Charlotte Landmark Series.  My Art’s BBQ photo was strictly “off menu”.  Available for those die hard fans, but not published on the website.  

In all honesty, the fact I never got “the right” picture always bothered me.  As a kid, my mother and I would often each sausage biscuits from Art's BBQ, and because the church we attended was across the street, Art's would regularly cater our youth trips or church picnics.   During the 4th of July, we always had Art's BBQ on the lawn while watching fireworks.  Art’s BBQ was part of my life growing up, so it seemed the Charlotte Landmark Series was missing a piece. 

However, perhaps there were more serendipitous forces at play. 

When I got an email from Doug Evans last week about meeting with Michael Katopodis, I was so excited.  I knew who he was, I knew his father and his grandfather used to bring me my sausage biscuit with mustard.   

So, here was my chance to make things right with the universe on a much larger scale.  Not only could I now include Art's BBQ in the Charlotte Landmark Series, but I could also interview Michael for the Portraits/ Profiles project and document the meeting here. 

Boom. CLaSBPop!  The Triple Crown of Charlotte society. You can laugh now, but one day, many years from now, when Charlottean's are reminiscing about the history of this town, they will be counting up the rarified list of CLaSPoPB winners.   Mark my words. 

You can laugh now, but one day, many years from now, when Charlottean's are reminiscing about the history of this town, they will be counting up the rarified list of CLaSPoPB winners.   Mark my words. 

Michael's father, Danny Katopodis, is now running the family restaurant.  And yes, like all good Greek son's, Michael worked every summer in the restaurant for over a decade.  According to Michael, it kept him out of trouble.   Today,  Michael is an independent financial advisor who specializes in helping people like me focus on managing money and looking towards long term financial goals.  Michael has his work cut out for him with me, however, Charlotte is the place to be if you're in his line of work. 

I encourage you to reach out to Michael if you’re evaluating your portfolio or looking for someone to help you with your investments.  

My Portraits/ Profiles project has allowed me to meet some incredible people.   None more special than any other.  However, I can tell you Michael is the first CLaSBPoP winner, and for me, that's a honor. 

[nsb2717]

A Wool Bikini & Rubber Boots

OFFICER: Do you know why I pulled you over? ME:  I’m not wearing a helmet? OFFICER: You’re riding a tandem bike with a tube sock. ME: To be fair, I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers. OFFICER: Are you a big Chili Peppers fan? ME: Not particularly.   OFFICER: You think you’re some kind of comedian? ME: No, I’m a real estate agent. OFFICER: Nobody wants a funny real estate agent. ME: Am I getting a ticket for not wearing a helmet or not?

Obviously, this is fictional exchange between a police officer and myself.  However, it was part of a real phone conversation I had with my best friend Tonto.  

About twice a month, usually between the hours of 9pm and 1am, Tonto and I will have a conversation that typically spirals out of control into a bizarre combination of what could only be described as two people hashing out a Saturday Night Live sketch. 

The entrance to this rabbit hole began with the decade long tradition of Tonto asking me what I am wearing when I answer the phone.  For years I have fielded this question with outfits such as boy shorts and a snorkel, fedora and skinny jeans, speedo and a Christmas sweater, pocket watch and a nipple ring.  My response this night was simply “a tube sock”.  Anyone familiar with The Red Hot Chili Peppers can fill in the blanks, and thus began the Monty Python-esque back and forth routine.  Each of us adding to the commentary and doing our best to make each other laugh to the point of tears.

Good Times. The real reason for his call was to congratulate me on my recent success.  Unless you live in a cave on the sun, or you don’t have a single social media account, you’ll know I’ve had several closings over the last few months. In fact, by the end of August, I will (hopefully) have closed six transactions over the last six months.  

Those aren’t exactly “Rookie of The Year” statistics, however, if you think about it, only one person has those statistics, and that’s good for them.   So, while I’m not setting the real estate market on fire, I am doing the work.  Each transaction is a learning experience and gets me one step closer to the goals I’ve set.  One, two, three small deals will one day lead to something great, and that’s what I’m working toward. 

The smallest ocean’s still get... big, big waves.

-PEARL JAM  

As we continued to talk, Tonto pointed out the social media aspect of what I’ve done.  The quirky videos and the sarcastic flyers.  He laughed and spilled his wine at the pride he felt in knowing I would someday reach these milestones.  It’s no secret I was not the most liked or accepted individual in our circle of friends.  My outspoken attitude and ability to irreverently cross any line put before me did not endear me to anyone.  More than likely it alienated me from people who otherwise would have accepted me, if not for my brash and unapologetic persona. 

I’ve known Tonto since I was 18 years old.  Since I was young and cocky and stupid.  We’ve seen each other through the worst times of our lives. When our hearts were broken, when our cars were crashed, when we faced the judge or when we thought our lives would never be as good as it was when we were young and cocky and stupid.  And yet, here we are.   I’m facing my 42nd birthday in September.  He’ll be 50 in a few months, and we’re reliving the good and the bad we’ve shared.   

It was getting close to midnight when the wine and beer had taken proper hold of our heart strings.  Our laughter turned to nostalgia.    With a final pat on the back, we hung up to these parting words:

TONTO:  I knew I could mold you... I always knew you had it in you. ME: Thanks, I’m not doing too bad. TONTO: If you could just dial down being you, I knew they’d love you. ME: Well, you did it.  I’m happy for you.   TONTO: Yeah...(laughing) ME: I’m real glad I could be here today... to witness all your success. TONTO: (more laughing) ME: I just want to thank everyone... for this award... but, mostly... to Tonto... TONTO: (still laughing) ME: ...without him to tell me I was doing it wrong, I wouldn’t be here today. TONTO: (crying laughing).... oh... man... you know what I mean. ME: I know what you mean.... I love you buddy. TONTO: I love you too, I’m proud of you. ME: I’m proud of you, too. 

[nsb2717]

You Can Call Me A Madman

There is a dirt road in Bihar, India that cuts through a 300 foot mountain. The road is 30 feet wide and 360 feet in length with the cliffs extending 25 feet into the air.  It connects a small village to a nearby town providing the residents with access to doctors, schools, food and supplies. It is a humble road, unmarked with any signs of the incredible story behind it’s creation. 

In 1960, after his wife was injured while scaling the rocky footpaths of the village, Dashrath Manjhi had to travel 70 km to reach the nearest hospital.  

Upon his return to the village, he decided and shorter path needed to be created, and so he sold his three goats and began a 22 year construction project to carve a road through a mountain.  

When he began, he was called a madman.  

From 1960 to 1982, Manji worked from early evening until late in the night, using fire to heat the rocks.  He would then douse them with water which cracked the boulders.   With his sledge hammer and crowbar, Manji reduced the hillside to rubble hauling it away inch by inch, stone by stone. 

The impossible, made possible.  One man chipping away at a mountain to benefit the people of his village.

The Navy Seals have a little joke that asks: 

“How do you eat an elephant?” ”One bite at a time.”

This phrase serves only to point out that impossible things only seem impossible when you stand back and look at them from the perspective that something is too large or to hard or to complicated.

Last February, when I made the decision to take on the real estate world, it never occurred to me I would fail.  I didn’t look at the mountain or the elephant.  I didn’t look at the 400 page text book and think I wouldn’t be able to accomplish the task. I took the mountain of knowledge page by page, chapter by chapter and studied the information the instructor provided.   

Unlike Manjhi, I did not do it alone, my wife, my parents, my friends all pushed me.  They offered financial and emotional support so I could be where I am today.  After I completed the course, there were other milestones to face, other mountains to reduce to rubble with my fire and my crowbar.  I had to learn the business of real estate, I had to learn to market myself and compete with 16,000 other agents in the Charlotte area.  I had to stand out and I had to be different.  It’s not easy to get up everyday and create content for social media.  It’s disheartening to see your blog only has 10 followers, and you wonder, why should I write this, if no one will read the words? It’s not easy to feel like the work you are doing is for nothing.  There is rejection and frustration and emails from people who simply don’t want your help.  Your flyers and business cards go into the trash, and the ad you created gets skipped over.  

It’s hard to be told no over and over again, or told what you are doing is the wrong approach and that’s not the way it’s done.   

It’s hard to be called a madman. 

And then, your phone rings and a friendly voice mentions your name.   A referral from a friend or an email comes through congratulating you on your closing. On your desk is a ‘Thank You’ note from the mortgage lender of your last transaction who is writing to simply tell you what a wonderful job you did. 

On Facebook, a stranger recommends you as a local expert and you see your marketing video getting 2,000 views.  Suddenly, those voices once doubting you are praising your approach. Quickly, the villagers can see your progress, and like magic, there is a road before them, they could not see before.  Little by little, I have made my way through this process.  I did not do it alone and there are many people to thank.   However, I am doing it my way.  Which may not be the right way.  It may not be the way other’s have done it or the way other’s with do it in the future.  But this is my road.  

[nsb2717]

GPS Signal lost

Don’t you hate it when people answer their own questions? I do. What’s even more annoying is silently dying inside while someone tries to convince you they aren’t lost.  A study by the BBC estimates men drive an additional 276 miles per year because they refuse to ask for directions. With the invention of GPS and the access to navigational apps on our smart devices there is no longer any excuse to ever be lost.  That is, assuming you don’t lose your GPS signal.

Which raises another question entirely.  How does this generation handle the loss of GPS signal when stranded in the middle of nowhere?  

Sitting in the office of my broker in charge discussing my real estate goals and the direction my business should take, I began to feel very lost.  And the more she dug deeper into my everyday tasks and the things I know I should be doing, I was suddenly hyper aware I wasn’t just lost, I was in the middle of the jungle with no compass surrounded by things that wanted to eat me.

It’s one thing to know what you should be doing.  Putting that knowledge into action is completely different.   There are aspects to this new career choice that come easily to me.  The social media, the conversations about real estate, the seeking out of a specific home for a buyer, repair negotiations, or finding a solution to a problem are all things I do well.  Seeing things from a new angle or thinking creatively about ways to market myself are things I enjoy and come naturally.  

What doesn’t come naturally are the sales tactics I know I need to be exploring. That inorganic, used car salesman approach of shotgun blasting phone calls to unsuspecting strangers fills me with what can only be described as flu-like symptoms.  

So I sat there in my broker’s office, listening and nodding my head in agreement, slowing dying, refusing to admit I was lost and quietly letting the sickness wash over me.  

After my father left WBTV in the early 80′s, he decided he would start a production company specializing in travel videos.  This concept would allow him to pursue his love of writing, journalism and travel.   Since that time, he’s been to over 80 countries.  When my mother became a flight attendant in 1988, our family began taking trips to New York, Boston, London, Paris and South America.

On one of our very first trips to New York, my father challenged me to learn the subway map and gave me the responsibility of getting us back to our hotel.  Every choice I made, my parents and my sister followed.  After only a couple wrong turns, eventually I got us home.   It was a lesson I would never forget.  

Having someone in your life to challenge you to navigate your own way is important.  To this day, I’m comfortable being lost in an unfamiliar city. Although, my wife would disagree, I’m comfortable asking for directions.

Being lost is not always a bad thing.   If your goal is to get lost, you can often find yourself uncovering some remarkable things.  While traveling in Rome and Amalfi, I took my father’s advice about letting the sidewalk lead us.   Without looking at a map, my wife and I walked down side streets into hidden restaurants most tourist never discover.  We found shops and cafe’s and little square’s tucked away from the masses.   It was a wonderful time to be lost.

After my meeting with my broker in charge, still feeling nauseous and defeated, I started to think about what my father had taught me.  I began to reflect on our family trips to New York and London when I learned to read the subway maps.  I realized we had always found our way home.  The twists and the turns along the way were never dark or distracting.  The places we discovered were always interesting and unique.  The lessons I learned were always positive and became part of who I am today.  

Being lost suggests you’ve given up, you’re missing or something is gone forever.  You can’t really be lost, if you’ve found your way home again.  So all the uneasy feelings I had sitting there listening to my broker in charge lay out the inevitable actions I was going to have to suck up and put into practice, were really just part of the journey.   I wasn’t really lost, I was simply on a different road taking me to my ultimate destination.  Become a trusted real estate agent my friends and family can confidently refer and be the best possible advocate for my clients.   That’s the goal.  

[nsb2717]

First Base is That Way

I didn’t think I would be able to coach t-ball.  Being a former college baseball player, I knew it would be an exercise in patience dealing with kids who were more interested in using their cleats to make the hole in the grass bigger than the kid from the other team had the previous inning.   

My only other coaching experience came in my early 20′s when I was asked to be the assistant for a co-worker’s son’s middle school team.  The parents were more than a little surprised with my vocabulary during the first game.  

Needless to say, I knew going into to coaching my son’s first year of t-ball couldn’t be like that experience. I had to dial it back to zero.  I like to think I controlled myself very well and taught the players a little something without being too hard on them.   One of my favorite players was the younger brother of another kid on the team.  He was actually the youngest kid on our team.  He was adorable and sweet.  Instead of high fives after the game he would hug me and tell me I did a good job.  He’s an awesome kid.  The funniest thing he did was every time he would hit the ball he would run straight to the pitchers mound.   

Me: Ok... after you hit the ball, where do your run? Player: First base. Me: Right.   Where is first base. Player: Right there. (pointing to first base) Me: That's right.  Where do we run? Player: First. Me: Got it? Player: Got it. Me: Okay.... HIT IT! Player: *Runs to the pitchers mound*

Every time.  

There are people in this world like my brother-in-law John Cantrell and Bobby Downey and Brian Casper who are great at weaving business into casual conversations that turn everyday chit-chat into a "deal". So, I'm like my player and they are like the coach.  They sit me down, they show me how it's done.  I nod my head and confirm.  Then I run straight to the pitchers mound.    I've seen them do it. I understand how they do it... it's not that complicated. However, when I do it, I sound like a complete jackass trying to sell someone a used car. It's just not my skill set. 

So instead, I write emails, send text messages, create .gifs and post things on social media.  All in an attempt to remain in front of people and let them know I am a resource if they have any real estate needs or questions. When I try to weave business into conversation, I end up feeling like I want to take a shower.  There’s some disgusted part of my brain that tells me whomever I was just speaking with walked away and told everyone what a bottom feeding jerk I am.  Just between you and me, I already know I’m a bottom feeding jerk, but that doesn’t mean I want other people to think that way.   I guess what I’m saying is that my job requires me to do and say the things I don’t enjoy doing and saying.  I need clients and clients come from referrals and referrals come from hitting the streets like a lady of the night flagging down cars on Wilkinson Boulevard.  

If you’re still reading this, just know I appreciate you holding back the disgust you feel when you get my email or text messages.  I’m not trying to hide why I’m calling.  I need clients and for some reason bugging my friends seems to be the best way to get those. 

So, thanks for humoring me, and thank you for sending me your real estate referrals.   Let’s have lunch soon. 

[nsb2717]

Goin' Home

[nsb2717]

How Music Helped Me Sell a House

We all have that one thing we love that some other set of friends doesn’t quite follow.   For some it’s comic books & superhero movies, for other’s it’s sci-fi.  Perhaps you enjoy collecting stamps, stuffed unicorns or retro toys.    Some people keep their obsessions well hidden and don’t discuss it for fear of ridicule.  Other’s, like myself, display their weakness in the living room.  

Ever since I was a child, I have loved records.  My father had a large collection of vinyl that eventually gathered dust, became obsolete and was stuffed away in a closet.  Like with nearly everything, my father and I disagreed on what constitutes “good” music.   He preferred the folk stylings of The Kingston Trio, The Brother’s Four, and The Village Stompers.   He also had albums from Mel Torme, Andy Williams and Burt Bacharach.  Needless to say, I wasn’t rockin’ out to any of these, however, he did have a handful of albums which I still have in my collection today.   The Beatles White Album, Let it Be and Abbey Road, Simon & Garfunkle, Neil Diamond and Ray Charles.    I started collecting records in the early 2000′s by accident.  I was working in the restaurant business and had lived in a one bedroom flat in Charlotte.  Not having a lot of money for decorations, I framed and hung my father’s old albums on the wall.  For some reason, people thought I collected records, and started giving me old albums.  Eventually, I bought a record player and realized it brought back so many memories of playing vinyl with my father, and listening to his old Smother’s Brother’s Comedy albums. 

Bouncing around from restaurant to restaurant and working my way up from busboy to salad prep to line cook to server to bartender, I eventually managed to land a job as the Assistant General Manager for a high end latin restaurant in downtown Charlotte.  Tyrece Ussery was the general manager at the time, and over the next two years, we would work together and become friends.  He was even in my wedding. 

Eventually, I left the restaurant business to become a location manager in the film industry.   Tyrece followed me into that profession and he’s now a respected assistant director.   For 15 years, I worked in film, first as an actor for commercials and then moving into production and then locations.   All the while, Ty and I had many adventures and conversations.   A great deal of those conversations revolved around music, and he has a wonderful wealth of knowledge about jazz, funk and rock.   

When North Carolina abandoned the 25% tax incentive for television and film, it became nearly impossible for me to find work and I made the choice to become a real estate agent.   

While I missed working with Ty on set, we made it a point to get our families together of birthdays, cookouts, UNC basketball games and afternoon beers.  Which is why the call I got from him a few months ago wasn’t a surprise.   He invited me for coffee to talk about life and catch up, which wasn’t out of the ordinary.  What was a little surprising was his request for me to represent him as his Realtor®. I’ve never been to prom or had anyone ask me to marry them, but I can imagine what that feeling must be like now.   No, I didn’t jump up and down like a girl or cry, but I did get butterflies.  After almost three months, I’m EXTREMELY excited today for Ty and Tiffanny who closed on their new home.   The best part?  Their new house is right around the corner from us, and we can spend more time perusing my record collection.  

Thank you Ty for being a friend and for letting me work for you and Tiffanny to help you close on your new home. 

[nsb2717]

Four Times Too Many

Looking back on each of the days, there was nothing unusual or unnerving about any of them.  They were random days of the week.  The news came like a bolt of lightning each time.  Electrifying and unexpected.  Devastating and dramatic.  The most difficult suicide for me to come to terms with was someone I admired. Someone I spoke with less than twelve hours earlier.  Someone I grew-up with and loved.   I’ve never publicly discussed the events of that day.   Out of respect, I will never go into detail.  Over the last year, I have come to terms with the realization there wasn’t much I could have said or done to change the outcome of the decision.  If there where signs I missed them.  Our conversation was excited and joyous.  My invitation to come to my house any time was genuine and our departure was pleasant. The next morning, I did not feel I had done everything I could have done to prevent the loss of life, and I felt responsible.  In a small way, I will always feel as if I did not do enough to prevent the outcome.    

I have been touched by suicide four times. The first time came when I was 8 years old.  

When you are on a swim team as an young kid, they will often assign an older team member to help the younger kids get to the heats and encourage them.  Bradford Jordan was the teenager they asked to help me.  I looked up to Bradford.    He was 17.   He was a leader and a great swimmer for our club.  Perhaps they asked him to help me because they saw some talent in me.  Years later, after Bradfords death, I would go on to break the NC State record in butterfly.    I remember my parents spending a good deal of time explaining his death to me.  I think they were surprised at my acceptance of his death, and didn’t quite understand my understanding of what had happened.  

At the time,  I wasn’t sad.  Honestly, I have never been sad about Bradford’s death.  I have always been more confused and bewildered by it.   There is a poem by James Witcomb Riley which I associate with Bradford’s death.  I honestly have never really accepted that he was dead, and I feel like he’s with me sometimes when I need help finding my way. 

I cannot say, and I will not say That he is dead. He is just away. With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand, He has wandered into an unknown land And left us dreaming how very fair It needs must be, since he lingers there. And you—oh you, who the wildest yearn For an old-time step, and the glad return, Think of him faring on, as dear In the love of There as the love of Here. Think of him still as the same. I say, He is not dead—he is just away.

I recall my parents spending quite a long time letting me know that I could always come to them if I was upset or contemplating harming myself.  I miss Bradford all the time.  I wonder what he would be doing today or if we would know each other.  This happened over 30 years ago, and I still think of Bradford Jordan.  Suicide didn’t find me again for over 30 years, but it when it did, it found me three times in less than three years.  Two friends I looked up too growing up and a family friend of my wife’s.  I’ve already mentioned that I spoke with one of those friends less than 12 hours before, which was and still is difficult to live with.   

If you’ve read this far, you might be questioning my point in all of this.  It’s a fair question.  This “article” seems to have less gravity than most of my posts.  With the recent news of some high profile suicides, I think my message is that we are never as alone as we believe we are.  My very first thought when I hear about any suicide is Bradford Jordan.  The reason I think of Bradford is a selfish reason in a way.   I think about him alone in his home holding his father’s gun and I think that if I had just been there for him.  If I was there to distract him, to ask him to play, to remind him that he had a future or something to look forward to,   If he could have just seen me that day or if he could have stepped outside of himself, perhaps he would still be here. If you’ve read this far, I applaud you.   If you’ve read this far and you are upset, sad, or need someone to talk to... I can promise I won’t judge you for any reason, and I might just tell you some hilariously funny stories that will cheer you up.  I promise I will always be honest to a fault.  I promise I will help you.  I promise to be your most inappropriate friend and make you laugh. Just don’t go anywhere until you talk to me first.  

[nsb2717]

Direction, Magnitude & Gratitude

Tell me if you’ve heard this one.

  Teacher- Where have you heard the word "momentum" before? Student- In sports Teacher- Ok, so if one team scores a touchdown, gets an interception, and the whole game is going their way, what does that mean? Student- They're playing the Giants

I don’t follow the NFL, so I’m not sure if the joke still applies to the Giants or not.  You can substitute whichever team applies these days and make the joke relevant.  

In Newtonian mechanics, linear momentum, translational momentum, or simply...momentum (pl. momenta) is the product of the mass and velocity of an object. It is a three-dimensional vector quantity, possessing a magnitude and a direction.

Obviously, the Newtonian mechanics definition found on wikipedia is far less exciting than the actual momentum shift during a sporting event that seems to pulse throughout the entire stadium.  

In my personal opinion, college basketball offers the most visible and tangible example of a momentum shift.  Momentum shifts in college basketball manifest themselves in quick 10 point runs that either put a team ahead at the drop of a hat, or the more exciting shift of making a comeback in the final two minutes of the game to overcome a seemingly impossible deficit.

Starting your own business is an exercise in momentum.  Gaining momentum, maintaining momentum, regaining momentum.

Every opportunity to take advantage of this physical force needs to be exploited to your advantage.    Figuring all of those things out is challenging.  Especially when you’re new or if you’re taking your shot at an industry in which you have not yet mastered, but are working as hard as you can to succeed.

The success I have today did not just happen.  The closing I have today is a butterfly effect that began with a simple conversation miles away from my office.  A stranger whom I have never met asked my friend Mason Reuter to help with finding a realtor and my name was provided.  There are 15,999 other names that Mason could have given in that moment, and yet, he trusted me. He put his faith in my ability as a Charlottean and as a Realtor® in the The Queen City to find his co-worker the right home.

That’s a humbling thought. Not only for the trust placed in me, but also for the importance to my family.  A referral from anyone means I can potentially support my family.  I can pay my bills, I can buy clothes and food and my son can play little league.  

It’s likely Mason would understand those realities on a certain level.  It’s unlikely he placed as much importance on it as I do.  It’s likely he doesn’t know how indebted I am to people like him, who trust me enough to chose me over the other 15,999 agents they could have referred.

Each referral possess magnitude.  Each referral gives me direction, and isn’t that the definition of momentum?

[nsb2717]

I Get That You Don’t Get It

If my dad had a rubber toe, his name would be Roberto. This is a family twist on a classic dad joke.  My dad’s name is Robert, so this joke works on two levels.  However, my father goes by Bob, which set’s him up for another twist on a classic dad joke.

What do you call my dad in the pool?  Bob. 

You see, in November of last year, he was diagnosed with ALS, which means he can’t use his arms.  While this twist may seem quite dark, it’s the exact type of humor my dad would appreciate.  

At a very young age, my father introduced me to Monty Python, the Smother’s Brothers, Laurel & Hardy, and Abbot & Costello.  While some of the humor of these comedy icons is based on slapstick, I was always more drawn to use of words and the twists they would put on things to make a situation funny.

If you look at that list, very few of them used standard “punch lines”.   Laurel & Hardy were mostly based in physical comedy, however, it was the clever use of props and the seemingly impossible way Stan would fumble his way through a particular gag.   Abbot & Costello penned the universally known ‘Who’s on First’ routine.  It still holds up today, and could easily go down in history as one of the greatest use of words to create a joke of all time.  It’s safe to say very few people of my generation know who the Smother’s Brothers are, but my dad and I used to listen to them on vinyl and on old VHS tapes.   Their musical abilities and subtle jabs at the ABC censors flew so far under the radar at the time it’s hard to believe they got away with the material.

While I always enjoyed the aforementioned troupes, the absurdity of Monty Python and the genius of their wit will always be my personal favorite.   The twisted views on religion, their sarcasm and thumbing their noses at British society are exceptionally intelligent.  Long after my father as sunk to the deep end of the pool, I will cherish the memories of us laughing at The Holy Grail while my mother shook her head and ate her popcorn unamused. 

You see, it’s simply not for everyone.  Like Scotch, you either appreciate it for what it is and you understand it on a deeper level, or you spit it through the air and question why anyone would drink liquid dirt.

When The Holy Grail was released in the theaters, my dad took my uncle Skip to see it telling him it was hilarious and genius and the best comedy movie he’s ever seen.   Twenty minutes into the film, my dad is laughing hysterically while my uncle got up and walked out.  I’m sure his exact words were, “I don’t get it.” What I think would help those of you who don’t get this sort of humor, like “Dad Jokes”, is that often times it’s not the joke or the word’s or the punch line that’s funny, rather it’s the reaction to it.  

A perfect example is the film Bull Durham.    In the first 15 minutes of the film, Ebby Calvin Laloosh unleashes an inside fastball that drills the right handed batter square in the back.   The wild pitch is bad.  The wild pitch isn’t funny.  Hitting the batter isn’t funny.  None of that is funny.   What IS funny is the sound of air leaving the batters lungs as he groans and takes his base.  It’s funny, because that is exactly sound you make when a 95 mile per hour fast ball drills you in the ribs. I can tell you from first hand experience, it’s not funny.  But the reality of this scene and the sound the batter makes is down right hilarious. 

Dad jokes are bad.  Dad jokes aren’t funny.  The punch lines aren’t funny.  What’s funny are the moans and groans of the listener.  The reaction of the listener to the unbelievably bad joke IS the joke, not the joke itself.  

Dad jokes aren’t for your amusement.  They are for the bemusement of dad’s everywhere.  So, the next time you’ve dug in and you’re staring down a 95 mile per hour dad joke that cuts inside bruising your ribs causing you to groan with pain, just remember, that pitch was not for you.  

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Referral Madness

Anytime I mention my grandfather’s name, Clarence O. Kuester, Jr., inevitably, the very next words I hear are “Oh, I loved your grandfather”.  Even my best friend Tonto, who doesn’t really like old people, loved my grandfather.

That’s saying something. 

There is no question, Clarence Kuester, Jr. was a spectacular gentleman, who was adored by literally everyone.  He was charming, intelligent, well dressed and wise.  He always gave the most extraordinary advice with a soft and soothing voice.  It’s difficult to describe my grandfather’s voice.  He had a slight southern drawl with just a hint of British dialect.   The only voice that seems to come close to his would be ‘Winnie the Pooh’.  Which may sound funny, but it’s true.

When my sister, the eldest grandchild, was born my elegant grandfather wanted his grandchildren to call him “GRANDFATHER”.   It has a ring of sophistication and aristocracy.  It’s well suited for a man of his taste.

The only problem was, my sister couldn’t manage the mouthful and when she would attempt “Grandfather”,  the only thing that came out was, “Fädder”.   To his credit, Clarence didn’t give up. He would sit with Ashley and get close to her face repeating, “GRAAAND FAAATHER”, over and over.  

It was no use.   From 1971 until the day he died, he was our Fädder.  

What he didn’t realize at the time, was my sister had given him a gift.  The word Fädder translated from Norwegian means Mentor.  A fädder, by baptism in Norwegian society is also called God's grandfather or “godfather”.  A Fädder is a person who has a special responsibility to take care of another.

Being one of eight Kuester grandchildren was one of the best childhoods you could have imagined.   I think it’s safe to speak for the other seven when I say, we were all extremely close. We were more like (and still are more like) siblings.  While not one of us is surprised by how respected and loved our grandfather was throughout his life. There is a level of awe to which it holds.  

When I was working in the film industry scouting for homes in the Charlotte area, inevitably, I would knock on the door of a longtime Charlottean who might have been hesitant to listen to my “Hollywood” sales pitch.  All it took for me to gain their trust was to ask them if they knew “Clarence Kuester”? and two minutes later I’d be having tea chatting about where the cameras would be set up and making plans to shoot a movie inside their home. 

Over the years, I’ve learned that what other people think of you is out of your control to a large degree.  In the end, people will draw their own opinions of you based on their own perceptions.  Ultimately, it is of little consequence.   Still, it would be nice to be held in such regard.  

The goal is to be referred.  The goal is to have others hear your name and immediately think of you as the person to call to help solve whatever concern they may have.   

I like to think of myself as a solid problem solver.   When I worked in the film industry they called me “The Fixer”, because anytime there was an issue with the neighbors or something had to be accomplished quickly, they knew I would fix the situation. 

Since becoming a real estate agent, I’ve had to figure out how to get people to think of me as a real estate agent.  The objective moving forward is to have my name be the first to come to mind when my friends, family and acquaintances hear someone has real estate needs.   

Perhaps the reason they don’t is because I have had my fair share of careers; TV associate producer, restaurant manager, event planner, location manager, photographer.  It’s not their fault they can’t keep track of what I’m doing.   Well, today that’s gonna stop.   In 1936, an anti-drug propaganda film was released called ‘Reefer Madness’.  It’s completely over the top and hilarious.   We had a copy of it on VHS when I was in college at Appalachian State.     The other day I was thinking about how to get more referrals, and for some reason that movie poster popped in my head, and I felt the need to create this for your enjoyment, and for your referrals!   

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Is There Anything You Can’t Take?

In 1987, jazz drummer Buddy Rich was being prepped for surgery on a brain tumor when the nurse asked him, “Is there anything you can’t take?” Rich replied, “Yeah, country music.”

He died of respiratory failure due to complications from that surgery.   Those were his final words.  

Widely considered one of the most influential drummers of all time, I’d be hard pressed to find many people outside of jazz/ drum enthusiasts who have ever heard of him.  Rich played with Count Bassie, Thelonious Monk, Dizzie Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Ella Fitzgerald and Animal.  Yes.  That Animal, from the Muppets.   

In this clip, you can watch the famous drum battle between Rich and Animal. 

I never read a biography about Buddy Rich, and I don’t know anything about his personality.   I don’t know if he was an uncompromising person, but his quote is.  

I’ve always hated when employers asked the question, “If you could describe yourself in one word, what would it be?”

In my mind, there’s no “one word” that could possibly encapsulate a single person. Uncompromising is a good word, but that’s not who you should limit yourself to being.  You’ve got to be Knowledgeable, Logical, Personable Amiable, Flexible, Adaptable, Persuasive, Perceptive, Insightful, Trustworthy, Easy-Going, Imaginative, Warm, Ambitious, and so on and so on. 

Our life on this earth should be a quest for enlightenment.  The inner peace that comes from being completely content with the present moment no matter what the situation may be.  Enlightenment is, for most people, a difficult concept to even comprehend, much less attain. We are constantly surrounded by negativity and stress and anger and forces that pull us away from the peacefulness of our natural state. 

Not that many years, I was angry.   I was constantly fighting to prove to other people who I was.  My ego forced me to always be something for someone that wasn’t necessarily me.  It takes practice to let go and to not compare what you’re doing with whatever is happening around you.  It’s a lesson I learned hard by failing at trying to be everything for everyone.  

I see people who will never attempt to understand the concept of enlightenment, which is sad, because simply understanding the path to take is an amazing experience.  The day I let go and opened myself to the idea of being enlightened was a moment of pure freedom.

No.  I don’t think I am the Buddha, and I’m not joining a monastery of monks.  (Although, the Trappist do make some damn good beer.) 

Last month, I made the decision to leave Keller Williams to join the smaller firm of Downey Properties.  It was difficult choice  I considered for quite some time.  Keller Williams has an amazing training program.  The agents at KW act like a large family and they have a wonderful culture of caring for each other. That was hard to walk away from.

Ultimately, it came down to the size of the company and the energy that surrounds such a large firm.   Personally, I needed something with less distraction and I made the move to Downey Properties.  

In my office now, I have Bonzi trees and a large window that looks out over the roof of a very peaceful warehouse.  In this space, I can concentrate and work on the business of real estate. 

The day I left Keller Williams, I was driving home and I got a phone call from Jay White.  Jay is an successful businessman and helped coach me during my first year as a real estate agent.  We also happen to have gone to college together and I consider him a friend. Like everyone, Jay and I have different opinions about a variety of subjects, but at the end of the day, I respect his point of view and I respect where he stands on most issues. 

During our conversation, he brought up our different approaches and he surprised me by saying he admired the fact I never compromised my personality or my who I am at my core.  

That’s something I’ve worked on for many years, and I have aspired to attain.  An unwavering understanding of who I am.  It’s something we should all strive to attain.  That does not mean to be stubborn or irrational or immovable.   It simply means you must know yourself before you can understand the world.

Jay recognized it and made it a point to tell me it was a quality I should never lose.  It was great advice.   

Uncompromising.  

It’s not THE word I would use to describe myself, but it’s a good one.

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Sphere of Influence...ACTIVATE!

Shape of a LISTING!  I have always loathed industry buzzwords.   Every profession has them, and the only cool ones come from sports.   For biased personal reasons, I tend to believe baseball has the best professional buzzwords or phrases.   For most people, these sound like pure gibberish, and perhaps that is why I hold them so close to my heart.   Baseball is a fraternity.   To a solid majority of the rest of the world baseball is too slow, there’s not enough action, the strategy and gamesmanship is too complex for the casual fan.  It stands to reason that this secret language is something special for those that understand it.  Shopping in the Gap, The Golden Sombrero, hanging a snowman, eat a steak, bleeding heart, foot in the bucket, bush, blue, bullet, bump, bomb, blooper, Bermuda Triangle, humbabe, humnah, ole, pickle, pickles on the burger, pill, poke, pine, rake, range, rip, rope, flair and so on and so on.   If you’re one of the many who have no idea what any of that means, I’ve attached a baseball slang dictionary website for you to refer.   http://theclubhousemag.com/slanguage/

Outside of sports.  Industry or corporate buzzwords are the absolute worst, and although I use them, it never makes me feel good about myself.   Phrases like, Out of the Box, Optics, Value Added, Circle Back, Download, Take Away, Face Time, At the End of The Day, Transparency, Drill Down, Pain Point, ROI, Change the Conversation....  all of them make me want to get one of those radiation showers where they blast you with scalding hot water and scrub you down with a stiff brush like Bruce Willis got in 12 Monkeys.  

Two phrases I don’t mind, are Sphere of Influence and Core Advocate.  I can’t help imagine I’m embarking on a fantastic voyage every time someone mentions Sphere of Influence.    “Captain! We have to activate the Sphere of Influence immediately!”  

For those of you not in sales or real estate, and who may be unfamiliar with the definition of “Sphere”, it consists of the people around you.   Your contacts, peers, associates, friends, and acquaintances.  Your “Sphere” is people in your network with whom your opinion holds some value.  When I first became a real estate agent, the goal was to “Activate” these individuals in order to improve communication with them about my career and engage them in a meaningful way to gain referrals and grow my business.

Now, if “Activating the Sphere of Influence” sounds like fun, then you’re gonna love “Developing Core Advocates”.    Currently, I’m taking applications for “Core Advocates”.   If anyone reading this would like to apply for a Core Advocate position, simply continue reading. 

Core Advocates are members of your “Sphere” with whom you have educated on how to promote and direct others to your business.  For most of us, our family and close friends are the best example of core advocates.  

(Yes, mom, you are my #1 core advocate)

As your sphere grows, the object is to also grow and educate your core advocates so that when the industry in which you operate is mentioned, your name and your reputation is immediately brought into the conversation.  When my brother-in-law hears the words “Real Estate” being discussed, he always refers me to that individual.  That is the role of your core advocates, and that is the goal you are reaching to achieve with everyone in your sphere. 

Now... 

SPHERE OF INFLUENCE!  ACTIVATE!

SHAPE OF A LISTING!

Drew Taylor REALTOR® 704-622-1653 [email protected] Calldrewtaylor.com

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Let’s Talk about Texts

It would likely surprise most people to learn the first “text”, like the SMS message system we use today, was sent on December 3rd, 1992.   In 1992, cell phones were the size of a brick with nonexistent digital screens.  Which means the first text message sent by 22-year old engineer Neil Papworth to Richard Jarvis was delivered via computer over the Vodafone network.   As I’m sure you are aware, modern text messaging is now associated with mobile phones, so I don’t know what makes the first text message a text and not an email.  I’m not an engineer, however, I can imagine the answer is insanely boring.  

Sometime around 2001, I got my first cell phone.   It was a Motorola flip phone with direct connect through Nextel.  I was 25 years old, working in a sales position for an event planning company and I thought I was the cat’s pajamas.  Soon after this time, I recall the first commercials for text messaging.   The commercial I remember was a group of people sitting around a conference table and as the boss was talking, two executives were typing on their phones, laughing and making fun of the boss.   My original reaction to the advertisement was, “who the hell is gonna use that? The person is two feet away, just whisper like a normal human.” I thought to myself.

I can admit when I’m wrong.

Can you imagine life without texting these days?  GAH!  You’d have to actually talk to people.  Gross.  When I got out of sales in 2003, and went into the film industry full time, texting was in it’s infancy and rarely used outside of short personal messages.  Email was considered impersonal and I can recall my manager pushing us to make phone calls and set up face to face meetings, which I loathed.  I was thrilled to be getting out of sales so I would no longer need to make cold calls or solicit business to support myself.  For the next 13 years, I worked, first as a production assistant, and later as a location scout and manager for Showtime, HBO, and Fox.    

Then, on December 31st, 2014, North Carolina walked away from the 25% Tax Incentive for Film and Television causing the virtual collapse of the film industry in this state.   My choices were to move to Atlanta or find a new career.   For two years, I struggled to work full time as a location manager.  By then end of 2016, it was clear I needed to make a change. 

From September to December of 2016, I searched for a new career in advertising, marketing, public relations or project management.  It quickly became apparent the professional world had become a landscape I did not recognize.  Facebook ads, text messaging, LinkedIn, online marketing, virtual marketing, blogging, vlogging and social media didn’t exist in 2003. At 40 years old, my education and experience was obsolete in the professional world.  

In January of 2017, I got a real live phone call from a childhood friend who suggested I look into the possibility of real estate.

Commission based sales, sphere of influence, referrals, cold calls, networking,  door knocking,  Thank you cards, coffee meetings, lunch meetings, meeting meetings, training, license renewal, continuing education, marketing, business cards, banners, websites, business pages, social media updates, and on and on and on...

Sounds like zero fun whatsoever with an avalanche of industry buzzwords I never wanted to hear ever again....  let’s get started.  In February of 2017, I opened the North Carolina Real Estate text book and began the long process of becoming a real estate agent.   Exactly one year later, in February of 2018, I had two closing.   

So, here I am, back in the world of commissions and referrals.  Emails and text messages.  Coffee and lunch appointments.   My business and being able to support my family relies on my network of friends and family.  It’s built around the relationships and referrals I have gathered over the last 41 years of being a Charlottean and the new relationships I can gather and maintain.   I’m creating a new career by reaching out through emails, marketing, blogging, and social media.   And yes, also through text messages.   That impersonal form of communication that no one will ever use.  

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It’s Getting Hot in Herre

Do not take off all your clothes.

Last week, I wrote an article nearly one person read (thanks mom) about the lack of inventory for homes in the 150k-300k range and the shift in the areas in which certain demographics have begun looking for homes.  

With the expansion of the light rail towards UNCC, more home buyers under the age of 30 are seeing the benefit of buying property with a little more room to grow a family while maintaining access to the breweries along South Boulevard and the night life of downtown.  (I’m a Charlotte Native, trust me it’s ‘Downtown’)  There’s also a mindset shift by aging baby boomers who are too cool for retirement communities.  They are seeing ‘Surban’ areas differently, with less driving, no yard work, and access to shops, restaurants and workout facilities.  

Now that I’ve recapped the article you didn’t read, I can move on to the four hottest neighborhoods in Charlotte and the super boring graphs you’ve been dying to see. 

Above, you can see the decline in Charlotte’s inventory.  Depressing, right?  I mean if you’re into graphs, this is so sad.  If you’re a buyer right now in the Charlotte market you’ve probably thrown your hands up in frustration at least twice today.   What that graph means for sellers is multiple offers, total sales prices at or above asking price, and overall time to pop the champagne.  

POP! 

Did you hear that?  Another home closed in less than 24 hours (well) over asking price.    Average sales prices in the Charlotte area are up 13.2% from 2016.    If you’ve ever considered selling your home, now is the time to do it.    

Who want’s more graphs?

If you’re wondering which four zip codes are currently experiencing the largest growth over the last three years, you might be surprised.  28205 barely made the top 10 and 28211 isn’t even on the list!  Shocking, I know.  

So, there you have it mom.  Hope you enjoyed my presentation.  Share it with your book club.