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This is good writing, and the man takes it down in 500 words. From The Denver Post:

Twitter’s popularity and usefulness are a mystery to me. Pressed by personal, professional and cultural forces, I sporadically deploy short missives for fear of becoming one of those cantankerous technophobes who is too dense to recognize the miracle of letting “followers” know I hate raisins or that I loved the finale of “Mad Men.”

Now, not only am I expected to transmit this minutiae mere seconds after I think it, some 20-year-old in California has decreed that I must do it within the brevity of 140 characters. This need for conciseness, in fact, induces normally articulate friends of mine to write in Prince lyrics — recklessly using “2″ and “4″ and “U” as words.

To this point, I’ve found Twitter so aggressively worthless that I was forced to research exactly what I was missing. In the process, I stumbled across a useful New York Times tech column penned by David Pogue that clarified all. The headline read, “Twitter? It’s What You Make It.”

In summation, like your beloved pet rock, Twitter is useful only in your imagination.

Despite this, I can’t begin to add up how many times, as a member of the media, I’ve been instructed that I need to Twitter by people who have absolutely no clue what Twittering means. How Twitter helps journalism is yet to be determined.

But the deepest mystery of Twitter is why celebrities and elected officials take part. After all, we all know they can’t write their own lines.

Now, admittedly, Twitter can be entertaining on occasion, as it turns out that 140 characters offers a great chance to be misunderstood — and an even greater chance one will expose his inner troglodyte.

In these past few weeks alone, a clueless Colorado State Sen. Dave Schultheis tweeted, “Don’t for a second, think Obama wants what is best for U.S. He is flying the U.S. Plane right into the ground at full speed. Let’s Roll.” NFL running back Larry Johnson took time out from his busy day of sucking at his job to ridicule his coach and question the heterosexuality (crudely) of a critical Tweeter. He lost his job.

So you see, though only a reported 11 percent of Twitter’s users are actually teenagers, nearly everyone who participates may end up sounding like one. (Young people have the good sense to head to MySpace, where they can freely post sexually provocative pictures — with music!) I certainly have no cleavage to ratchet up my “follower” numbers.

As a blogging, Facebooking, texting American who values the explosion of democratic user-generated Internet content and its contribution to intellectual debate, political activism, government transparency, entertainment, access to data and community, I can safely say I still see no reason to tweet.

Naturally, this phenomenon is growing by approximately 1 million percent yearly. Maybe this is just where I get left behind by technology. Still, I’m sticking with Google CEO Eric Schmidt, who called Twitter the “poor man’s e-mail system” — and considering e-mail is completely free and allows you to form complete sentences, that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement.

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Ok… so I try to stay away from being too blatant about the self promotion here at BHB. But screw it. Here we go…

Easy Reference Youtube Embed Codes and Tweaks For Your Website

Using Youtube’s standard embeds you end up with something like this:

Notice the White “Brainstorming Domain Names” in the header? Ugly, right?

Well strip them out by adding “&showinfo=0″ to the url. And you’ll end up with something like this:

Or maybe you want to make the vid bigger? Just change the dimensions in the embed code and you’ll end up with something like this:

Or, maybe you’d like to start the video at a certain point? Use “&start=(insert seconds here)”.

Or, maybe you want to “loop” the video so it keeps replaying? Just use “&loop=1″ in the embed code. Trust me, this, coupled with “&autoplay=1″ can come in very handy, especially if you’re trying to have some fun with a friend. I’ll spare you the demo on this one, because the Bloodhoundblog home page would end up streaming my “toilet humor” over and over again until this post gets buried in the archives by newer posts.

Or…maybe not? Which leads me to my favorite trick. Coupling all of the above with a minimized 1 x 1 pixel vid featuring some unsavory audio. (If you pull out a magnifiying glass maybe you can see the video below this line?

[Note- Little pixelated fart was just removed. I felt bad because people were starting to blame the dog. Sorry Odysseus... rh, a few days later]

Excuse Me!

Practical applications for real estate? Well, stripping the white title line could make your site look a lot cleaner and more professional? Or maybe you want to take a real long video of a home tour, then link directly to different rooms by using the “&start” thing. Or maybe you’re confident a little “silent but deadly” offer could help your conversion ratio. Example: You could embed a tiny 1×1 and say something like “pssst… give me a call, I have an opening this Saturday morning at 10.”

Freak em out a little, they’ll either love you or hate you for it… but at least your site’ll be memorable?

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I had a dental dilemma yesterday, and it’s left me less than useful. I’m working — I wrote a contract earlier this evening — but I’m housebound for now. It gives me time to post, for a change, and this is an important topic that I’ve wanted to take on for quite some time.

The issue?

Television.

I almost never make time for it, and then not regularly, but there are exceptions in my life (facilitated by on-line and on-demand re-runs).

Thus:

1. Glee. Incomparable harmonies. Preciously POMO, but still deliciously rude. Corollary: Baseball sucks. Cut it out.

2. Madmen. Will Donald Draper defenestrate this Sunday?

3. South Park. I have concluded that Leopold Stotch (”Butters”) is the glue that holds the show together.

I would like to have something of moment to say about Entourage, which we always enjoy when we see it, but I’m too cheap to pay for HBO.

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This was in my email this morning, spam from LinkedIn.com:

Joel Burslem is no longer Director of Product Development at Vook

Means what, I don’t know. Deck chairs on the Titanic. There is no huge surging mass of sub-literates demanding even easier-reading access to the half-shouted profundities of Gary Vaynerchuk. Love him or hate him, the guys lives and dies in video. He cannot be caged by a page, no matter how stylish or expensive or electronic that page might be. The book is a dead letter, so how could the Vook not be an even-deader letter? You cannot even pretend to believe otherwise unless you are in the pay of Brad Inman.

But: None of that matters. The Vook is instructive because it teaches us a host of interesting lessons about how to fail in business. Big names. Big funding. Design budget. Attractive product that works. Fancy offices filled with bigfoot corporate types. Even Aeron chairs, I’ll bet. What could go wrong?

Only this: There is no market for the product.

Remember that “find a need and fulfill it” bit from Business 101?

Can you name even one person who has confided to you, “You know, I’d probably read more if books were more like television?”

“I’d sure like to read more books, but the books I want to read are interrupted at intervals by bad actors enacting bad scripts.”

“What I want from books requires a sub-woofer!”

That’s a disaster from day one, and I have been ridiculing the Vook since first I heard about it. But even now, I can see an actual use for this technology: How-To books: How to build a rocking chair in 24 easy steps or The Kama Sutra for Klutzes. Those could sell, because they answer a need that can be served by both text and video. Even then, though, they’d be better as web sites — easier to control, easier to revise, etc.

But let’s go back to the Vook’s original marketing problem and try to solve it in a better way.

Brad Inman is a choke-point dinosaur. His goal was to come up with a “blade” dispenser — a relatively cheap razor that could be used to sell higher-profit “blades” over and over again. Gillette’s razors, Kodak’s cameras and Amazon’s Kindle device are all examples of this very-common business model. Because he has worked his whole life in publishing — selling vast quantities of a publication no one reads — he naturally gravitated to publishing for his new venture. He has a background in video, also, and video — unlike paper — is not easy to produce, reproduce, exhibit or copy. If anything could make a book into a “blade,” it would be video.

Except that books themselves are dying as an information transmission medium, dedicated devices you have to schlep around are an anathema and no one is crying out in desperate need for badly-animated comic books starring Gary Vaynerchuk.

I had two words for this idiot product when it was announced: Market research.

The Vook is just a dumb idea, but the base idea — a dedicated device that people are willing to pay added-value fees to gain access to — that may not be completely off the wall. Or maybe the place for an idea like that is on the wall.

Look at this:

That’s a beautiful photograph. So it this one:

Those are just two news photos I found today on-line. There are hundreds more, just as striking, taken every day. And there are millions of other very striking photos that have been taken over the decades. And thousands of drawings, illustrations and paintings.

High definition video monitors are the perfect picture frames, and we are soon headed for the day of video fabrics that will work like wall-paper — and eventually like garments.

We are on the cusp of an age when the quantity of available video screens will be massively increased — and every one of them is going to need programming.

For now, a dedicated device could connect a big Aquous-like monitor to a net-based service that fed images to that huge screen.

This is programmable art as decor.

You already have big picture frames all over the place.

You already have a small USB-fed picture frame on your disk, filled with eight gigs of family photos.

A device like this combines the two: Huge, striking graphic images that change at intervals — an evanescent art far better than you can afford to purchase in atoms, but yours for pennies a day when sold to you as electrons.

You’re already paying for decor. All we’re doing is turning decor into “blades” — something you purchase continuously, rather than only when you change homes.

That’s a business.

Your mood is programmable — on the fly. The intervals, the arcs of the color wheel, the tone and tenor of the images themselves — all controllable by you.

This is something people would pay for. This is something I would pay for, and I hate everything.

And remember, the quantity of available video surfaces in our lives is about to explode. There are a lot of business opportunities in here, but there are a lot of Web 2.0-like options, too. What a DeeJay does is more than just records, and what an Image- or Video-Jockey does can be far more than mere images.

This could be huge…

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I’m an East Coast Liberal-tarian type who’s ok-down with all the political talk around here… in theory.

But in general I follow the no politics or religion in public rule… just because it’s easier, and I guess I wussily think there’s really only negative stuff that can come from political or religious chatter, especially done in a professional bloggy context…

Sports on the other hand, nobody’s offended by sports talk right?

Go Giants!

(Image, created by Eric Hartman)

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A Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie story by Greg Swann

Here’s what happened: I had to stop walking because I was sick. You may not know it, but on top of all the other scourges it entails, the state really has it in for itinerants. You may never have wanted to run off to Alabama with a banjo on your knee, but I’d bet you’re more than a bit dismayed to discover that you can’t. Got to have a fixed address, so they can inflict all their precious ‘benefits’ on you.

So I had to stop walking and I had to see a doctor, and of course I couldn’t. I’ve walked myself right out of society, and I have an inkling I may have walked myself right out of the human race. At least that’s the way Nurse Martinetti made me feel.

That’s really her name, but I think she must have married into it. She looked like American Gentry to me, which is to say John Bull white trash six generations from the last capital crime. Short, bottle-blonde with a cut that looks cute on smudged-nosed tomboys, thick through the ankle and the cortex. My guess is she became a nurse because she red-lined the psych profiles for meter-maid.

First, it’s not a doctor’s office, not anymore. It’s a ‘Health Services Cooperative’. We all know what a cooperative is: It’s a place where you go to not get whatever it is you came for. It would make too much sense to stay home, where you already don’t have it. In any case, Nurse Martinetti is charged with making sure that no one gets anything they came for, although they might get stuck (literally!) with quite a lot they’d have sooner done without. But I wasn’t even that (un)fortunate, because I don’t have a fixed address.

Nurse Martinetti gripped her clipboard and said, “What do you mean? How can you not have an address? Everyone has an address. Some people even have two!” She looked at me as if I were something a puppy accidently left on the carpet.

“…,” I said with a shrug.

“Are you homeless?”

“I wouldn’t say so. I sleep indoors as often as I want to. I pay my own way. I just don’t have an address.”

“But you must!”

“But I don’t.”

“But this can’t be!”

“Why not?,” I asked. “Why is it so hard to accept that there are people who walk from place to place. There have been people walking this continent at least since the Europeans came. Ponce de Leon. Coronado. Father Kino. Daniel Boone. Lewis and Clark. William Blake, for god’s sake!”

“He wasn’t an American!”

“You can say that again,” I mumbled.

“Are you some kind of spy sent out from Washington?!?”

I just smiled at that and sat there, giving her the time to really look at me. I expect that with a few improvements in my grooming habits, I could get a job parking cars in Washington.

“Well then, on your way!” My jaw dropped. She got up and was walking away before I managed to speak.

“But wait! I need to see a doctor.”

“You can’t.”

“…?” I said: “What?”

“You can’t see a doctor.” She said that slowly, the way American Gentry types talk to children and Hispanics.

“Well why not? I can pay.”

She scoffed. “Pay what? Five dollars?”

“I can pay whatever it takes.”

“What it takes,” she sneered, “is five dollars.”

“…?”

“Everything here costs five dollars.”

“Everything…?”

“Everything.”

“Hang nail?”

“Five dollars.”

“Ulcer?”

“Five dollars.”

“Liver transplant?”

“Do you drink?”

I said, “No.”

“Five dollars.”

“How much if I drink?”

“We won’t do a liver transplant on people who drink.”

“Kind of a retroactive social engineering, is it?”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds more like revenge,” I muttered.

She was straining to turn like a jammed drill bit. She was obviously trying to think of some slightly more polite way to dismiss me, so I said:

“Well, five dollars it is. At five bucks a pop, you must do a land-office business.”

“We did for a while,” she confessed, “so we had to institute rationing.”

“Why not just charge what things are worth? Then people will decide on their own what to buy and what to leave on the shelf.”

For the first time the expression of habitual belligerence on her face was gone. In its place was belligerence-on-the-verge-of-tears. “But what about people who can’t afford health care?!? You are an atavism!”

I’m thick-skinned, but I’m not all skin. I said, “What about someone who can afford a liver transplant, but happens to drink? Your income transfers were one thing, but now you’re talking about transferring life and death! What kind of ghoul are you, anyway?”

Well, that tripped her breakers. She stomped over to the reception desk and picked up a microphone. “Vinnie!,” she announced. “Nurse Martinetti calling Doctor Vinnie!”

I don’t believe in destiny, but certain toes were just made to be stomped on. I said, “So I do get to see a doctor.”

“You do not.” She was speaking now from the armory of pure rage, each word a bullet. “For your information, you cannot obtain health care from this cooperative. You do not have an account with our parent alliance.”

“Well, then, let’s just fill out that paperwork and open an account.”

“You do not have an account. You cannot have an account. You do not have a job. You do not receive public assistance. You have no fixed address.”

“So you’re telling me I can’t just buy what I need.”

“I am telling you, sir, that no one can buy health care! Health care is too important to be bought and sold!”

“Too important for keeping people in line…?,” I murmured.

Just then Doctor Vinnie showed up. Big, bronzed and beefy, the kind of really dim man really dim women go for. He was wearing a dark grey suit — a ridiculous cut but beautifully tailored — a black shirt and a lime green silk necktie. He swaggered and sucked his teeth, two traits that never fail to win my awe…

Nurse Martinetti said, “Doctor Vinnie used to work in the private sector.” She swallowed hard, as though to get a bad taste out of her mouth. “Now he works for us, curing people of their reluctance.” For the first time she smiled. It wasn’t pretty.

“On second thought,” I said, “I think I will be going.” I’m nobody’s coward, but — taking account that I can’t get health care — I couldn’t see adding injury to insult.

“Oh no! It is we who have reconsidered.” She smiled again, and her teeth looked a lot like fangs. “Doctor Vinnie will see you now.”

She held open a door and Doctor Vinnie pushed me in. She closed it behind us, leaving me and her rehabilitated mafioso alone.

To my shame, I cringed. I cowered. I may even have whimpered…

Doctor Vinnie picked me up by the collar and dumped me on an examining table. He spoke to me, his tone a conspiratorial whisper. “Whatever it is, I can get it taken care of.”

I said: “…?”

“Jeesh!,” he said. “Don’t you get it? She turned you down, right?”

“Yeah, so. I’ll just go somewhere else.”

He smiled, and every one of his big, beautiful, pearly-white teeth called me an idiot. “There ain’t nowhere else.”

“…!,” I said. I gulped hard.

“Not to worry,” Doctor Vinnie said. “Like I told ya, whatever it is, I can get it taken care of. But it’ll cost ya…”

“Cost me…?”

“A hundred grand. Cash.”

I gulped again. “A hundred thousand dollars…? For what?”

“Whaddaya got?” He grinned.

“Hang nail?”

“A hundred grand.”

“Ulcer?”

“A hundred grand.”

“Liver transplant?”

“A hundred grand.”

“You didn’t ask if I drink.”

“What do I care if you drink?”

“Right…” I said: “Triple-bypass?”

“A hundred grand. We take care of you and we even fix your records, so the feds don’t come after you later. A bypass is hard to hide…”

“Inoperable cancer?”

Vinnie smirked. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s a hundred grand, and we’ll give you the same lethal injection you’ll get from her for five bucks.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“Got it…”

Just then Nurse Martinetti burst in, followed by two men who reeked of Fedliness: Boxy suits, boxy shoes, boxy skulls. They came in with their guns drawn and triangulated on Doctor Vinnie.

I’m nobody’s coward, but I’m nobody’s fool. I’m not shrewd like Doctor Vinnie. What I am is smart. In a flash, I could see what would happen to Vinnie and me: The Fedlies would give us a free lobotomy and they’d alter our records at no extra charge.

So I packed up my pride and I ran. One of the fedlies tried to chase me, but he gave up after a couple of blocks. I’m sure he thought they’d pick me up later at my address. Joke’s on them, of course, since I don’t have an address.

You should be so lucky…

Ah, well, you’ve got your health. And when you’ve got your health, you’ve got everything.

Right…?

 
Further notice: I wrote this story in the summer of 1993, when Nurse Martinetti was trying to ram HillaryCare down our throats. Since then, Americans have managed to become even better suckers for beguiling lies, more is the pity.

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I remember a long time ago, getting Star Power manuals in the mail.  Big, 3 ring binders full of worksheets that I’d work out with fear and trembling.  I remember getting star of the month stuff.

I remember hearing stars, ordinary schmoes like Phil Herman–a former postman talk about what made him separate from the pack.  I was hooked.  There was a formula to this success stuff, and this guy went out and gathered it up.

A collection of excellence was what Star Power was about, formed in the pre-Internet days, largely, maybe a precursor to the Bloodhound Blog of sorts.  In any case, Howard Brinton has been given a most unfavorable prognosis by his doctors.

So, a tribute site popped up, and it’s a place to go and reconnect with the stars, and to leave thoughts and tributes.   There, not here.   Thanks much.

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It’s clear even to him, by now, that history will no longer regard him as being the most inept American president…

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Brian, Sean, into the breech I go.  I had wanted to stay out of Politics since the heartbreak of the campaign last year (organizational dysfunction at the highest level).  I wanted to steer clear, but I got sucked in.

It’s a bad idea to think about politics because then instead of pounding the damn phones, you get sucked into this stuff.

This took a half hour for me, end to end.  Screen flow rocks.  Call me sometime if you want one that tells Your story.  Given more time, they turn out better, but speed is what kills.  The fast DO eat the slow.

This video was made with 3 things:

Screenflow.

Garage Band (for the U2 Loop).

8.5 x 11″ sheet of paper to tell the story.

This was more of a proof of concept–telling a story in 30 minutes or so.  I downloaded and quickly edited youtube video supporting what story I was going to tell (namely that Sarah Palin could be president, and that Sarah Palin needn’t be in my crotch).

This was done rapidly–I’m aware that there are transition goofs and I don’t plan to fix them.  They are my fault, not Screenflow’s.  I was trying to do something in a timed fashion,

But, I used to have to splice Screenflow in with keynote, and I will still likely use keynote, but not as much with the new version of Screenflow.

Screenflow + live type does everything that you’d want from a NLE with the exception of chroma key.  I do wish that Keynote had some sort of output-to-alpha type function, or transparent backgrounds.

Speed is what matters.  If I was (and thank God I had the sense to quit) still a loan officer, you damn well better believe I’d do a screenflow talking head each and every day with rates and other stuff.  You could be end-to-end in 10 minutes, and your arrows would quickly block out the sun.

I’ll indulge myself over the weekend with another video, and demonstration of A/B testing with Google Website Optimizer at a new little thing Bawld Guy and I are doing.

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This from my Arizona Republic real estate column (permanent link):

If you live in New York or Boston or Chicago, there will come a day in the Spring when the cold will seem to be in full retreat. The sun will be shining. The icicles on the trees will be melting, and the tickle of the cold drops of water on your hair and neck will make you want to throw your arms out wide and rejoice in your release from the awful prison of Winter.

That happens in Phoenix, too, but it happens six months earlier, on September 15th. Mid-March has its own charms, when the citrus trees open their blossoms and the air is thick with the nectar of heaven perfected. But it’s when the Summer breaks in Phoenix that people come outdoors, knowing that the next ten months will be simply perfect.

Consider: On August 15th, the late-afternoon temperature could be 115 blistering degrees. The sun will be relentless, seeming to hang for hours above the horizon, seeming never to set. The relative humidity will be 40% or more — which doesn’t sound too bad until you remember the temperature. Late in the day, huge storms could come thundering into the Valley of the Sun, flooding the low-lands and even tearing the roofs off of older houses.

That season — we call it “the Monsoon” — lasts from July 15th to September 15th. But when September 15th rolls around… paradise ensues. Daytime high temperatures drop to below 100 and the relative humidity tops off at below 10% — so dry you can smell the dry leaves and pine needles baking in the sunlight.

That might still sound too hot to you, but it’s not. It’s just perfect, an ideal time to be outdoors — all day and all night. There is simply no place like Phoenix, no place on Earth. We suffer, slightly, during the Monsoon, but we are repaid with ten months of the kind of weather that other cities are lucky to see for ten days in any given year.

And Winter — which you are just now beginning to dread — is our most perfect season of them all…

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I have always loved Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll.  It is many things, not least of which is a truly amazing exposition on language.  I bring this up because I recently read Brian Brady’s piece entitled Is Social Media Marketing Worth the Effort and quickly imagined myself on a walk with The Walrus and the Carpenter.  Greg Swan commented on Brian’s piece by publishing a video of himself, talking to us about his lack of interest in Social Media Marketing.  I can only describe this as so eerily representative of what one might find on the other side of Mr. Carroll’s looking glass that it’s borderline derivative! For reasons that will be clear in a moment, I felt compelled to jump into the conversation.

‘Contrariwise,’ continued Tweedledee, ‘if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn’t, it ain’t.  That’s logic.’

That’s logic… You just have to love the confidence of that line.  What’s even more interesting is how well this quote appears to sum up a few of our SMM darlings.  I’m thinking of Twitter here and as a matter of full disclosure: I’ve never used it.  As a matter of fact, I don’t believe I’ve used any Social Media in a way that can be measured for Return on Investment or conversion of prospects into customers.  As a matter of fact, the very idea of measuring return on investment or counting conversions goes a long way in explaining why so few people succeed in our business: they confuse marketing with advertising.  I’m itching to write a piece exploring that malady and will get to it as soon as I can carve out a little extra time.  But meanwhile, we have Twitter.  I know people right here in the Hound who are so old-school when it comes to marketing that they’re actually successful in this business (I’m not directly referring to the Bawldguy here, but if you’re still unsure I will look in his direction and whistle) and yet even HE has a Twitter account!  Go figure…

In Twitter Policies Come to Workplace, the main focus is on the banal problems Twitter engenders for those who choose to trade hours for money (and those who employ them).  But here’s what I found really interesting:

TWITTER BY THE NUMBERS
2.9 million: Unique worldwide visitors to Twitter.com in June 2008.
44.5 million: Unique worldwide visitors to Twitter.com in June 2009.
40.5: Percentage of tweets that fall into the “pointless babble” category
37.5: Percentage of tweets that are conversational comments
21: Percentage of users who have never posted a tweet
5: Percentage of users who account for 75 percent of all tweeting activity

Now that’s eye-opening: 78% of all tweets are pointless babble and comments - which are often “stimulated” by pointless babble and must, by necessity, be babble themselves.  And almost all of that originated by just 5% of the users!  As a means for generating business, I would not call this a “target-rich environment.”  But hey, who am I to comment?  I don’t use the thing myself and maybe I just don’t see the logic behind it.  Maybe the Twitterati are on to something.  Maybe it all makes sense to someone… walking on some distant shore…

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
To talk of many things:
Of shoes — and ships — and sealing wax –
Of cabbages — and kings –
And why the sea is boiling hot –
And whether pigs have wings.”

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Got any thoughts about REbarcamp? I’m not even sure how to spell it. But I went to REbarcamp in Columbus OH-I-O, and had a mahvelous time. The venue was nice, clean, easy for the navigationally challenged to navigate, no waiting lines at the Ladies Room. What more could we ask for? It was well-organized, and the organizers were accommodating.

A question came up while I was there: Would I go to another rebc? It gave me pause. I like to meet people, so I would certainly be looking for another opportunity to do that again. But rebc? I’m not so sure. I really dislike conferences in general, and on the drive home, just like I did after BHBU, I pondered what I would do to improve my rebc experience.

I did get it wrong about rebc sponsorships, btw. No one pays any attention to who is sponsoring anything, so that is a total non-issue. If you are using sponsorship as advertising, well, um, yeah. Of course the highlight was meeting people I only know online. Meeting face-to-face is one of the best reasons to go to most real estate functions, and rebc is no exception to the rule. What was so wonderful about rebc/OH-I-O is that the vast majority of people there were corn-fed Ohioans, just like me. My people. We have a common bond, we speak the same language, there is an ease and familiarity that follows. I really loved that more than I can express, so I would look for opportunities to get together locally and share ideas- that’s all barcamp is about, right? So here’s where it gets a little sticky to me. What is the big deal?

Call it Midwest practicality, but it’s local Realtors. And we are talking about local real estate. Think about it. When did this become hoopla-worthy? When did you need a name, an umbrella organization, a fancy venue, a nearby hotel, a website, a logo, sponsors, organizers, nationally known speakers, in order to share ideas about local real estate?

And so. Come with me to a little meeting with Jesus. I want to get together with other Realtors who are working in the same sort of conditions I am. I want to share things in an as efficient manner as possible. I want to learn as much as possible. That’s really all rebc is set up to do, isn’t it? Unless. Unless I have a product to promote. But if I don’t have anything to promote, then it’s not a big deal, right? I had a good time, but my brain didn’t explode, so would I take the time again? I don’t know.

Okay, untwist yer panties. I understand that several rebarcamps are Inman appendages of sorts, and they need to be a big deal, designed to accommodate a lot of people, and bless the organizers for getting those done so quickly and efficiently, but this is you and me, we are just folks, just Realtors out in flyover country, in little towns and small cities, no legends in our own minds. We don’t need a venue. What we need is to actively seek out a few like-minded folks in our area, a wifi, and the desire become better Realtors, because all the snazzy tools in the word don’t add up to squat if I’m not doing the best job I can. And here’s what I realized on the way home- I can do all this without months of frenzied organization, and corporate approval, and the beauty part is, the simpler it is, the more likely it will be to continue on a regular basis. So, little me is thinking that what I should be doing is contacting those local folks that “get it”, to use the cool kid’s vernacular, and say something along the lines of “Hey, we are both concerned about quality real estate, Panera has wifi, wanna do coffee? Cool. See ya then.” Done. Next.

Back to rebc, here’s the thing that has me flummoxed, whatever good intentions rebc started out with, something about it becoming a movement- an rebc in every town- doesn’t quite make sense, and in the back of my head I can’t shake this little bit of tin foil millinery: Either I really don’t get it, highly possible, or, maybe there is something being promoted that would require a captive audience. Because when you think about it, a local rebc is just real estate professionals talking about real estate, which really isn’t such a big deal after all.

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Radio Announcer: Don’t touch that dial! It’s time for crying, loving or leaving. And this first song has it all! It’s Jessica Horton with her debut song, “I’ve Got Friends in Loan Places” from the album: “If Tomorrow’s Closing Never Comes (The thunder is gonna roll!)”.

Blame it all on my buyer
Even if you’re a crier
Who doesn’t like to answer his phone.
The first one they called,
The first message they left
You were the last one
to explain about financing a home.
And I heard the surprise
And the hurt in your voice
When they went to the very next name
And that lender came through
Said, buyer, “This we can do!”
No, you’ll never hear me complain…

’Cause I’ve got friends in Loan Places
Where phones are on after 5:00.
And chances are never wasted
My buyers credit is more than ok…
I’m not big on your excuses
Facebook said you were busy taking cruises
Oh, I’ve got friends
in loan places!

Well, I guess you were wrong
People won’t wait too long
But then again, neither will you
Everything’s ok
Things get in the way
And, you had places to go’oh
Hey, I didn’t mean
To imply that you’re green
Just answer your phone and then…
Well, I’ll keep on sailin’
Like that cruise ship captain
That you’re currently on…

’Cause I’ve got friends in Loan Places
Where phones are on after 5:00
And chances are never wasted
My buyers credit is more than ok.
I’m not big on your excuses
Facebook said you were busy taking cruises
Oh, I’ve got friends
in loan places!

Radio Announcer: Love that song! Just love it! Next, it’s an oldie but goodie: Harper Valley B.O.R. - A song about real estate agents all up in each others business, and it goes something like this…

Album Credits: I would like to thank God. My husband. Mom & Pop and my cousin Earl and Aunt Lou. And, a special shout-out to all lenders: Thank you for your cookies – my kids loved them! However, if you’re looking for the quickest way into my heart, it’s through my ears and not my stomach! I love to hear, “Jessica, I called such and such lender on your list and they answered the phone and took my information – right there on the spot! Thank you for telling me about them! They are going to be great to work with! They said I can afford this much….”

Now, that’s music to my ears! Just answer your phone and you’ll go down in the Hall of Fame with this country girl!

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I’m not that guy who loves forwarding funny emails, but my father-in-law sent one to me that I had to share because it could totally apply to our industry.

Either way, I thought it would make for a little Friday fun.

___________

This is a true phone call from the Word Perfect Help line which was transcribed from a recording monitoring the customer care department.

Needless to say the Help Desk employee was fired.

>>>

“ABC computer assistance; may I help you?”

“Yes, well, I’m having trouble with Word Perfect.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“Well, I was just typing along, and all of a sudden the words went
away.”

“Went away?”

“They disappeared.”

“Hmm. So what does your screen look like now?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“It’s blank, it won’t accept anything when I type.”

“Are you still in Word Perfect, or did you get out?”

“How do I tell?”

“Can you see the C: prompt on the screen?”

“What’s a sea-prompt?”

“Never mind, can you move your cursor around the screen?”

“There isn’t any cursor: I told you, it won’t accept anything I type.”

“Does your monitor have a power indicator?”

“What’s a monitor?”

“It’s the thing with the screen on it that looks like a TV. Does it
have a little light that tells you when it’s on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then look on the back of the monitor and find where the power
cord goes into it. Can you see that?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Great. Follow the cord to the plug, and tell me if it’s plugged into
the wall.”

“Yes, it is.”

“When you were behind the monitor, did you notice that there were two
cables plugged into the back of it, not just one?”

“No.”

“Well, there are. I need you to look back there again and find the
other cable.”

“Okay, here it is.”

“Follow it for me, and tell me if it’s plugged securely into the back
of your computer.”

“I can’t reach.”

“Uh huh. Well, can you see if it is?”

“No.”

“Even if you maybe put your knee on something and lean way over?”

“Oh, it’s not because I don’t have the right angle — it’s because it’s
dark.”

“Dark?”

“Yes, the office light is off, and the only light I have is coming in
from the window.”

“Well, turn on the office light then.”

“I can’t.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because there’s a power failure.”

“A power… A power failure? Aha. Okay, we’ve got it licked now. Do you
still have the boxes and manuals and packing stuff your computer came in?”

“Well, yes, I keep them in the closet.”

“Good. Go get them, and unplug your system and pack it up just like it
was when you got it. Then take it back to the store you bought it from.”

“Really? Is it that bad?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

“Well, all right then, I suppose. What do I tell them?”

“Tell them you’re too damned stupid to own a computer.”

___________

So, I guess the main lesson that we can take away from this transcript is that asking the right questions is essential in determining whether or not someone is qualified to do business with.

I’m sure we’ve all had a conversation with an agent, loan officer or potential client that could have easily ended up in a similar manner.

You can’t blame the tech help guy for not asking the most obvious question up-front, even though the answer he received would have probably saved both of them 20 min. of frustration.

I’m wondering what obvious questions we should be asking our clients, agents and loan officers ahead of time….

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I’ve been tormenting Teri Lussier with Leonard Cohen. We can plumb for a new pain threshold with a selection of classics from Tom Waits. I don’t love everything about the sentiments behind this music, but I will always give it my highest score for having ambition, for daring to be something different from all the other crap that flows through your ears without ever penetrating your mind. The art that matters most to me is about splendor, where much of Waits is about squalor — but at least it’s about something. Give it your attention and see if it is repaid.

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