If you haven't heard, it's not a good idea to screw with Evan Guttman. Or Evan's friends. He's not a Mafia dude (though he DOES live in New York, and could pass for the part), nor does he have a multitude of friends with baseball bats and mean temperaments. What he possesses is something we all have access to: the Internet. That, and some dogged perseverance.
Here is the link to Evan's hour-by-hour, then daily trials as he tries to do one thing: recover his friend's Sidekick from someone who happened upon the item, and didn't return it. It is a tale of "finders keepers" versus "do the right thing." What makes this even more interesting is how others react to Evan's 'net posts, and take to stalking the "thieves." Not unexpected is the apparent lack of concern displayed by the police force in such a large city for a plight as miniscule as Evan's seems to be.
If you can't bear to read the whole diatribe, here is a link to the New York Times article, outlining the final outcome to the saga. (It may require a short, free registration to view.)
For what it's worth - I found this to be a great tale of how one man can make a difference thru a few simple posts on the 'net. And frightening, too!
It began as a joyous occasion, the celebration of my executive secretary's 80th birthday. This is a woman I have the utmost respect for, as she has been climbing the stairs to her office in my buiding for over 17 years, dutifully keeping my books and cutting checks to pay my bills, as she did for the previous owner. She is more than a secretary - like a second mother, who thinks nothing of admonishing me for spending too much money, or giving me a good-natured slap on the ass when I say something off-color.
At the end of her party, she gave me one of her flower arrangments, adorned with balloons and beautiful curly string. It is for this reason that I secretly resent her. See this innocent looking feline? Well, I was ready to throttle Whiskas with my bare hands. You see, I knew well enough to place the bouquet of flowers on a high surface when we went to bed that evening. What I forgot is the ability for said feline to leap upon tall pieces of furniture in a single bound.
When Roger and I awoke the next morning and stumbled into the kitchen to retrieve that life-saving first cup of coffee of the day, our bare feet slipped on something. "What the heck is THAT?" we wondered, sleepily. After turning on the light - we noticed lovely brown streaks. Not only in the kitchen, but across the bathroom floor as well. Seems as if Whiskas discovered the curly string during the night, ingested it in a frenzied moment of play, and the spent the rest of her delightful evening attempting (to no avail) to remove it from her intestinal tract.
After many expletives were hurled, we rectified the mess. Time to rectify the cat. Upon inspection of her nether regions, we discovered a lovely, brown-stained curl of ribbon portruding from her anus. Remember those Chatty Cathy dolls? Much the same effect can be achieved by holding down a cat and pulling curly string out of her ass.
Everything you want to know about Taylor Hicks is right here on Sunny's great site! I have been stopping by nearly every day to check on the Soul Man's progress in the crazy world of entertainment.
People Magazine's recent article hints at the personality of the grey-haired crooner - showing the side of him that came through during his performances. His interview shows a down-to-earth persona. Let's just hope that being thrust into the spotlight doesn't change him, and he can remain true to himself. Based on his responses to their questions, that's exactly what he wants as well.
Even the snarky boys at the WOW Report, have been Taylor-ized, and though initially skeptic, have reported their recent Hicks experience here. You know when you can impress a couple of high-society queens with a little harmonica, you've made it!
Okay -- so the blog hasn't changed much in the last few months. That's because I have absolutely NO CLUE about what to do to change it!
Hopefully, this horrible state of affairs will soon come to an end, as I have decided to slog through a web site tutorial to try to learn some HTML. Basically, I know two things: how to type a link so you can "click and go," and how to add a favorite link of mine to the sidebar. Sometimes I really have to think about the link typing, and it takes a lot of trial and error to get it right. (Remember, people, I'm in REAL ESTATE.) So as I go through some changes (which may foul this blog COMPLETELY UP while I am experimenting), please bear with me. Oh, and just to let you know, Roger and I celebrated 13 years of marriage this month. Here's a photo of my fresh, innocent little face, on my wedding day those many years ago, for your amusement.
There's an Irish proverb that states something to the effect of, "The cobbler's wife has no shoes."
I am finding that to be true.
I am the owner of a Century 21 franchise, and I have been in the real estate business for the last 14 years - you'd think I lived in one phat house. Not so. We bought our little Victorian charmer a few months before Amber was due to arrive, as it was more reponsible to buy SOMETHING than to raise a child in an upstairs apartment. Now said child is 12, Roger and I are face-to-face with the fact that we have outgrown our little home, and we are looking to either buy or build. We are the worst clients EVER. I've seen every house on the market - and nothing is good enough.
Appropriately, I got an email this week with the following images:
Your house as YOU see it...
As your LENDER sees it...
As your BUYER sees it...
As your APPRAISER sees it...
As the TAX ASSESSOR sees it...
All very true. I'm already tired of looking. And Roger is getting excited about the shopping/buying/building prospect - almost as excited as he got when I told him that I was buying him a bass boat, just "go pick it out."
As Father's Day approaches, I'm (again) at a total loss as to what my father would appreciate, besides socks, hankerchiefs, and ink for his printer.
My mother? COMPLETELY different story. You see, my mother and I have the same twisted sense of humor. And my mother appreciates the most absurd and eclectic gifts with sustained laughter, resulting in teary-eyes and aching bellies, all around. Half the fun of giving my mother a gift is the sheer joy in talking about its humorous aspects over and over again, sharing gleeful giggles, like naughty schoolchildren. We even used to go "Ugly Shopping" together, in an attempt to locate the most hideous outfit during our spree (which was VERY easy during the 80's). It is this same relationship we had during my youth that drove my father away from the dinner table, to enjoy his dinners in the relative quiet of the living room, while my mother and I cackled excitedly about the latest gross thing we had encountered that day.
But YOUR father may be different, which brings me to one of the greatest gifts I have ever given my mom. I just had to share it with you, in case you are clueless about what to give dear old Dad. It is pictured at the left, and I'll give you a minute to figure out what it is. Oh, you know it. You just can't wrap your brain around it. But you know you've seen it...somewhere...but where?
Yup. One of the great benefits of living in rural Arkansas is that I actually have access to these. Beautifully tanned, hollowed out, still with soft hairs attached, ready to carry your favorite tidbits (much like their previous owner did)!! You got it. It's a purse, made from a bull scrotum. The perfect gift for my mother, and maybe your dad!!
My mother, I might mention, is partially blind due to retinal neuropathy as a result of her diabetes. As you can imagine, when she opened this gift, she had to spend a great deal of time "feeling it," to determine what it might be. We got the greatest laugh, as she recounted to me how my father watched this tactile investigation as she wondered aloud what it could be. He finally had to exclaim (with great disgust, I'm sure - for the daughter who would visit such wrath on his home), "Well, for Chrissakes', Robin, it's BULL TESTICLES!!!"