From the JoeBurnsBlog: November 2008

We fall somewhere between Baby Boomers and Generation Xers.  We've been called Generation Cuspers, Generation Y and Generation Jones.  Do you know what we are?  Generation Computer-Illiterates.

I was born in 1965, graduated high school in 1983 and college in ‘88.  My ‘generation' missed two important milestones in the advancement of computers and the technology boom.  And this is very evident in today's social network pages and email correspondences.  Those of us currently between the age of 40 and 45 seem to be behind everyone else.

And here is why.  Desktop computers and word processing were not options during our educational years. In 1983, very few Apple and PCs had made it into high schools. By 1986, only 25% of high schools used PCs. Soon after we graduated, Apple IIs started showing up in libraries and dorm rooms across the nation.  As we entered the workforce in 1988, personal computers were already exploding, and by the time our ears were dry and we were ready for management the older workers (baby boomers) were already trained on this new phenomenon. Additionally, Baby Boomers were know-it-alls able to learn anything put in front of them. They act like they are the Wunderkid Generation.  Anyway, Generation CI (computer illiterate) missed the boat on both ends.  How lucky is that?  We were too old to experience computers in school and too green to hop on to them in the work world. 

Oh sure, there are plenty of exceptions and some Generation CI's were able to pull away from Miami Vice long enough to learn DOS, but as a rule many of us didn't.  I have proof too.  My friends from school are terrible at email.  Of course, it could be they just don't email me, but I really think they are overwhelmed with written communication. They surf the net well, seem to get by in their jobs ok, apparently download songs just fine, but try to get them to respond to an email or comment on a blog and they disappear like a donut in a title office. 

Is it me, or do other 43 yr olds feel the same way?  Did we cusp some kind of computer coronation and never catch up?  Hold on, someone I've emailed two hundred times is calling me back on my cell...

Have you picked out that perfect gift yet?  Oh man, the pressure - something she likes, something practical, something at a discount, something no one else has.  Well, I have your answer for the perfect Christmas Gift.

A Barrel of Light Sweet Crude Oil.   I don't mean a commodity purchase; that would be tacky.  I'm talking an actual 42-gallon, black barrel, stored in your garage for future use. 

What, you think all that talk of ‘alternative energy' is going to make oil obsolete?  No way, gas prices went back down and the sodium-cracker-combustible-engine sailed out the door.  OIL IS KING!!  And now you can afford to buy the Mrs her own SPR (strategic petroleum reserve)  Heck, at $55/barrel, why not buy a few.  Stack them high in the garage, you can leave the Escalade outside this winter; you bought the paint protection option, right? 

Oil was $150, it is now $55, its going to be $150 again this summer.  Why not take advantage of this down market? Your stocks took a dump.  Your home equity left quicker than a Sarah Palin t-shirt at a church rally.  What do you have left to invest in? 

On the morning of the 25^th, when that truck rolls up the driveway and the forklift begins unloading barrels, you will be the envy of husbands up and down the street.  None of their gifts will pay dividends like your Lt Sweet.  Two barrels and a few planks of wood and you have patio furniture.  Four barrels and you have the perfect stand for the camper shell. 

Don't buy the commodity.  I don't trust commodity brokers, who knows what price you're actually selling/buying at and you're always competing with those large trust funds.  Leave the broker out of it; buy the barrel.  I remember when my dad bought my mother General Electric shares one year.  Great gift, practical, couldn't lose, easy to wrap.  Oh, but the look she gave him after she opened that Florsheim shoe box to find the stock certificates; he then wished he had just bought her the chest freezer she had asked for.

Oil, it is the new Diamonds.

(Another tip - I'm filling garbage cans with gas right now.  It ain't going to get any cheaper this summer.  The garage smells of vapors, but I am stockpiling and saving.)

I awoke this morning in our guest bedroom, not completely oblivious to the events that got me here.  I vaguely remember the 1 am clandestine mobilization of my 3yr old daughter and armful of combatant stuffed animals.  We call them ‘lovies', but in the middle of the night when one of them is noticed AWOL by their 3 foot tall commander-in-chief, we call them a nuisance. 

After the invasion, our first mission was to find the troops left behind.  By 1:15 we found ‘Red Hood' the bear and ‘Froggy' and brought them to their new camp between Mommy and Daddy.  At 3 am there must have been some internal conflicts as Daddy took a couple pointed heels to the kidney.  At 3:30, when the sniper elbows were hitting my face, I decided to take refuge in the guest bedroom.  The guest bedroom receives actual guests about 2x a year, the other 363 nights it is there solely as a refuge to embattled Mommies and Daddies.  As I crawled into the quiet, vacant bed I had a final concerning thought, "what if my racing mind takes over and I can't fall back..." 

Next thing I heard was the troop mobilization on my southern flank, "What the...?"   6:47 am!  Oh yeah, Sunday morning - a family time, an introspective time, a relaxing time and a time to watch cartoons. Our guest room also contains the only upstairs TV.  I was soon surrounded by ‘pink bunny', ‘ballerina bunny', ‘gorilla' and the aforementioned ‘Red Hood' and ‘Froggy'.  Their commander had pulled herself up and taken post on the pillow next to me, asking for mechanical assistance with the video equipment. Luckily, my college training kicked in and I was able to enact the TV and Comcast cable box while still in a near-REM state.  I tried to fall back asleep, but just couldn't muster the ability to block out the high-pitched voices of the cartoon characters.  I pulled myself from the bed, kissed my little leader on her forehead and headed downstairs to my first cup of Joe. 

Sunday morning is a great time to be productive; I thought why not do some laundry while the coffee brews.  My only adult ally was able to fall back asleep and I have learned that the remainder of the Sunday is much more pleasant if I show some tactical support early in the day.   As I put the batch of soiled uniforms into the wash basin, I saw it.  Right there in the filter tray, dripping wet and looking worn was the thimble size ‘penguin' that has been missing in action for nearly two weeks.  He must have been in someone's pocket then washed ashore during the last cleaning.  I scooped him up gingerly, looked him over for any major wounds, dried him with a kitchen towel and brought him upstairs to the platoon of other lovies. 

‘Penguin' was always a liability.  Being as small as he is, he was smothered during snuggle time and often fell behind the bed or into precarious locations.  He was drafted through a 25 cent gumball machine at the local family diner and was held in reverence for what he lacked in stature.  "He is so cuuuute", my little one would say to the little one in her outstretched palm.  He was easily transportable and went where she went until that fateful day we learned he was missing. 

As I headed up the stairs, I was already basking in the hero light that would soon shine down.  The moments a father gets to be the hero of the day are infrequent.  In between threatened timeouts, hair-brushing pleads, and finish-your-supper commands, I rarely get to be the one that brings the ear-to-ear grin and admiration-eyes that melt your heart and swell your pride. 

To get full control of her attention, I positioned myself squarely between her vantage point and the TV.  I open up my hand, nearly as wide as my smile, and said, "Look who I found in the washing machine". 

She shrieked with excitement, "PENGUIN!!"  "Daddy, you found him," she said with the smile I had envisioned.  The morning light gleamed through the window and engulfed my image.  I was exalted.  Even the deaf dog heard the excitement and look up with eyes that said, "good work old man". 

I had done it; a day's work completed and it was only 7:30am.  Man, would NFL football be enjoyable today.  I was even sure the Mrs would suggest I watch the 10 o'clock and 1 o'clock games back-to-back, and worry about the pine needles next weekend. 

I slowly backed away, taking in the joy for one final moment, kicked my right toe on the ground in an about-face movement and nearly skipped to the door when the shrilling scream re-inflicted my healing kidney.  "His legs are missing, his legs are missing".    His what?  The quarter-size little made-in-China toy had legs?  What legs?  Are you sure, he had legs? (Asking a 3 and 5/6^thyear old if she was sure about the anatomy of her toy animal is like asking Sarah Palin if she really wants to be VP.  The answer is confusing, but delivered with sharp conviction.)

I stood there shell shocked, not having prepared a contingency plan.  Do I move in or retreat?  Out of nowhere, my second-in-command appeared from the master chamber and quickly silenced the combatant with a plethora of wordy condolences, promises and diversions.  Within seconds the little leader was re-engaged in her television drama, all lovies accounted for and lined up next to her, a child's smoothie in hand and contentment on her face.  I was no more noticeable than the door frame. The dog's head was back down and eyes closed. 

Ah, Sunday morning; the perfect imbalance between ending one week and starting the next.  The only assurance is the newspaper on the front porch and the hot cup of...

"Honey, where do we keep the coffee filters?"

Not in one blog, that would be a record; but with this blog I have finally reached the 10,000 pt mark on the great ActiveRain network. 

For those of you reading this blog on my personal page, most of my blogging occurs through a real estate network site called ActiveRain. AR now has 118,350 members that receive participation points for blogging, commenting, and site utilization.  The points are then rankings based on geography and professional designation.(and 10k is nothing compared to some on this site.)

For all of you on ActiveRain, thank you for your inspiration, your ideas, your comments, your insights, what a great network of positive thinking individuals.  Frankly, this experience has been one of the few that make me proud to be a real estate professional.  Often, I'm frustrated with the professionalism of my industry, I see now there is a higher level out there.

If you are new to blogging, as I feel I very much still am, have fun with your first 10k. I'm still clearly all over the board, lacking a blog identity. I've done some localism, some sports commentary, some political wrangling and some product advertising. And it is all fun. 

So a day after an historic event, I proclaim another - 10,000 pts.  I look forward to celebrating my 100k level, I hope you all will tune in.  Thank you AR.

The Raiders made the right call letting go of DeAngelo Hall on Wednesday.  Unfortunately, it is just a little too late.  Hall is one of those players that is good when things around him are good, but not a natural leader and was not displaying leadership in the field, nor I imagine in the locker room. 

This is the statement Al Davis needs to make with this team, whether through Tom Cable or directly, he needs to restore some pride to that team.  As a fan, I would much rather see rookies and upcomers go 3-13 than a bunch of over paid veterans.  Next up, Javon Walker; don't buy and green bananas Gallery; Morrison, you better get your head back; Huff, I'm still hopeful but that 1st round salary isn't helping you.  Oddly enough the 1st round pick that is performing best for the Raiders is the player that Davis got the most heat over, Seabass.

A note to Al Davis, I'm not one of your bandwagoners dressed up in paint, I'm a Raider fan since birth and lived and died with your shenanigans.  You won't have many more decisions to make as the Raiders owner, let these last few be a message for the future. "If you don't play hard, you don't play."

ps.  Take a look at Sarah Palin for safety.