February 20, 2016

Yesteryear
One year ago today: February 20, 2015, said Archie Bunker.
Five years ago today: February 20, 2011, Coco Grove Art Festival.
Nine years ago today: February 20, 2007, 15,000 songs, huh?
Random years ago today: February 20, 2014, I like Qbasic.

MORNING
           By now, my more seasoned blog readers will have correctly guessed this delayed post was due to a trip. Off to Lakeland again and this time it was to finally nail down some serious candidates while the real estate market still hovers in limbo. You don’t need me to tell you that real estate is a corrupt and borderline fraudulent racket. As usual, however, the Florida version is particularly nasty. The filthy agents (there are a few good ones, but they don’t seem to work the market level we are seeking) hide behind “due diligence” and “buyer beware” clauses taken out of context.

           For the next few days, I’ll point out some of the properties and the now expected outright lies and falsifications these were advertised under. When I say lies, I include errors of omission, where the agent intentionally covers up or fails to reveal a known defect that makes the property unsuitable for habitation. I suppose my feeling is based on the concept that if you advertise selling a “home”, that implies the structure is suitable for immediate occupation. Because if it isn’t, is it really a “home”.

           From there, it is only a small step upward to advertise a place that is habitable, but only after expensive renovations. That was the first place we looked at in Auburndale. We left here an hour late, 7:10AM this morning, not stopping until we got to our now favorite stop. The breakfast place in Lake Placid. For reasons unknown, Glady’s Restaurant in Okeechobee seems to be closed on irregular days and hours. So much so, that it is not worth pulling off the highway to check if they have yet another tiny sign in the window.

           We got the same seats again, and the guy that JZ helped off the curb ten days ago was also there again. Since we are semi-famous for the Good Samaritan deed last day, the locals were more chatty. We discovered it is a family business, which we somehow missed despite what appears to be three generations of the family working there. Here is a better picture of the bacon bin, this time cropped to be almost dead center of the photograph.

           I broke my rule of biscuits and gravy to half a “hobo” omelet with JZ. We scarfed fast and got back on the road to arrive in Auburndale three hours late, or just past noon. On the way, I received text notification and voicemail that one of the properties we set out to see was sold at 5:32AM this morning. I cannot explain that odd early hour, except that it was maybe posted on the Internet automatically. The place sold for full asking price.
           We saw that property later in the day and we would definitely had bought it. Instead we met with a day of expected disappointment at the falsity and pure misrepresentation of another five properties. Of course, I zipped into the Winter Haven Library first to make sure we had the freshest information possible before driving around the countryside.
           No green article today, but do read on as one of the properties we got to just before sunset is a rural setting with its own well and septic. And a back yard easily huge enough to fit with enough solar panels to take it completely off the grid.

Wiki picture of the day.
Bromine: no known essential role.
NOON
           Here is the first place we checked, a building in the old downtown area, across from the Auburndale Coca-Cola plant. This was the place I mentioned last Thursday that was partially renovated. It sold, again the “pending” flag, last November that came back on the market at the 20% discount. We have since concluded that something funny is going on with the Realtor.com flagging system. Somebody is able to manipulate it, an obvious inside job.

           Problem, neither of us liked the place. The listing photos were taken some time ago and the building has since gone decrepit. As is our policy, we get chummy with the neighbors and get the real story behind the property. This one was strange. The bank repossessed it for $2,300 in 2015, the flipped it a month later for $10,000, then it was resold two days later for $13,000.
           Then it comes back on the market a few months later at $23,000. We looked in all the windows and examined the extent of what had been done. Conclusion, even with the minor renovations that have been completed, it is probably still only worth the same $13,000.

           If the picture shown above (with JZ’s truck at far left, had been a few feet closer, the extent of mold damage and structural weaknesses would be visible. The shingling, while new, had simply been slapped over top of observably crooked and failing rafters. We walked away from it, but not before pumping the neighbors for information, and what a fountain they proved to be. It is now on file over here which parts of town you do not want to live in along the entire corridor from Winter Haven to Plant City.
           Another revelation was that here was yet another property where something was haywire with the electric service. The panel was intact, but the service wire from the pole had been yanked down an lying on the ground. Somebody had folded it up and tuck it alongside a less accessible part of the yard on the north side of the building. Intentionally. Same as the abandoned building (see Feb. 9 post).
           If you are thinking these must signify marijuana grow operations, nope, both premises were too small to justify such an operation. What? Well, of course I know precisely how big a grow op must be to make money. I’m an accountant from the west coast, you know. Shown here is my pal pointing out that while the panel is intact, the meter is missing and the pole wiring is disconnected.

AFTERNOON
           I was also put off by the local libraries no longer accepting a Miami-Date library card to use their computers. Instead, they now insist on “Federal ID”. Don’t hand me any jive about nothing to hide, the rule is very clear. If the Constitution does not specifically permit the government to do something, they are not allowed to do it. The inability to understand this is what pegs the idiots in a crowd. It is not the library rule, which even the dimmest bozo could trivialize. It is the exercise of authority where no authority has been granted. It’s a good thing I kept my old California ID card, right?

           While I was inside working hard, JZ found a local festival or something across the roadway. This also announces to the world how much real assistance I am getting on these exhausting searches for the properties we go looking for. I plug away at the computers, the other guy sets about collected bags full off free Wawa coupons. I almost felt sad to inform him there are no Wawa (convenience stores) anywhere near where he lives.
           We looked at a total of five properties, and here is the last one we found only by a miracle. Come to think of it, we also found them after I took over the driving, but you didn’t hear that from me. I had originally rejected the location as too far out of town, but JZ thinks the place is ideal. A family on disability lived there and for reasons unknown simply left the property and took all the furniture and appliances with them.

           This is the potential green home, with a huge yard in a compatible neighborhood. However, the immediate neighbor to the north has a two bay heavy equipment workshop that is probably in violation of every building code in the county. When arrive late Saturday in the dusk, it was to the pounding of heavy metal machinery.

           As a result, although this was JZ’s first pick, it dropped to second place for me. A reminder that JZ and I are not partners, he is merely paralleling what I’m doing with intentions of buying his own place. The yard is more than huge, in that it backs up into a heavily wooded area to the west that is under the jurisdiction of, gosh, I forget the name of that outfit. The ones responsible fo restoring the old Florida water courses.
           That means you can buy property with standing water, but you can’t build on it. We found plenty of land like that in the area around Mulberry. You can’t drain it or fill it in. Basically, you can clean it and pay taxes on it, nothing else. This is another example of Florida corruption—the seller is under no obligation to tell you about that restriction. I may have more to say about this soon, as I ticked off a couple of real estate agents by “charging” them for wasting my time. I did this by making an offer and then deducting a reasonable $500 for my time and effort to discover the things they failed to reveal that they knew were seriously wrong with the property. Like all crooks, they howl like dogs when exposed.

NIGHT
           By nightfall, we were both tired and argumentative. Me, because I had forgotten to take my blood pressure meds this morning (plus I forgot to bring along tomorrow’s). It is super easy to get lost in the tangled roadways in the Florida heartland. Even in daylight it still suffers the bonehead Florida pattern of giving each road several names and we all love those roads that change names at an intersection. That side is Carolina Avenue, the other side is Diary Road. It’s not their fault you are too dumb to follow their thinking.
           So we did what any two bachelors on the trail would do. We found that good old country bar in Plant City. Well, found it after twenty miles of wrong turns. I do not like yuppie “eatery” bars, and we walked into a dart tournament. Literally, the way it is set up, they have to throw darts across the pathway from the door to the counter.
           I liked it instantly, all you have to do is tell them to hold their fire until you find a stool. I like my women with blonde hair, blue eyes, and red necks. I’d say the place was a good cross-section of the locals. The barmaids straightaway recognized JZ. We hit on every gal that leaned between us to order, wink-nudge, there is a self-serve station right next to us, type of thing.

           I’m more cautious of my selection than JZ, he likes all women. Anyway, an hour later, after the local police had strolled through twice (I’m used to that in Texas), we were smack in the center of a bar fight. I quickly grabbed JZ by the collar and hauled him out of the way. What? You want to hear about the bar fight? Okay, this mouthy Italian-looking broad was behind us telling the world how wonderful her 11-year-old son was, and in front of us was a, um, how can I say this? The barmaid, while young, was very, very broad in the hips and around the bum. Ah, you got that.
           Well, with no apparent leadup, the barmaid starts tearing around the back of the bar to attack the Italian, and I mean something fierce. This barmaid was not only young, she was tough. Around three men blocked and stopped her from charging the Italian. Before you could blink, she was back behind the bar, rushing almost directly toward us. Like she was a featherweight school girl, she leaped up over the lower counter, onto the bar itself in a flying leap on the Italian.
           I never seen a girl that big move that fast. She pretty near jumped over a standard-height bar, and a lateral distance that exceeded the equipment behind the bar and the row of stools where we sat. This was no spontaneous bar fight, this was some kind of family feud. Big time. While the crowd pulled them apart within seconds, there was some damage done. Although the barmaid severely punished the other, it was against pretty feisty resistance.
           And then, it was all over. We finished our Buds and instead of trying to find the road back to Auburndale, opted to rent again at the Lake Wire. I slept for 11 hours, experiencing the usual incredible dreams that always accompany my travels.

ADDENDUM
           We examined a total of five properties, of which two were automatic rejects. We swung past another that were already sold because I had found a disjoint between the crime stats and what the type of neighborhood seemed to imply. One area was safe, the other was definitely not. One of our goals is to find out this data before we buy a thing. Here is a landmark on the road south of Sebring. In fact, we call it the “Sebring pineapple”. You may be too young to remember when America’s roadsides had countless fast-food outlets with and advertising sign in the shape of their offerings.

           I’ve seen donut statues, cookies, soft-serve cones, hotdogs, and giant soda bottles, but a pineapple in Nowheresville is something that shouts unique enough for a distinguished mention in this blog. We made a fine sight, JZ with the sneezing flu, plugged up and sounded like he’s on the verge of collapse, and me jittery and on edge, jumping at every sound.
           And might I say, as soon as we got in the truck, I knew it was not the flu. Upon questioning, his brother and wife both have the same thing. Hmmm, three adults, old enough to have built most of their lifetime resistances up. And they all “caught” it after eating sushi at the same restaurant at the same time? I say they all have mild food poisoning.
           Another item I forgot was the new adapter cable for my dashcam, the camera I built that takes those beautiful videos. So I had to make do with my fish-eye cam, taking a chance it was working. It has no viewscreen and no indicator light to show it is operating correctly. After I took over driving, we got around that barricade, actually a series of barricades, and into the property that needed the roof repair.

           Here is both the original ad and later JZ walking in the yard. This place had possibilities but it was sold from under our noses because we hesitate to move that barricade. My first pick was none of these places, but rather an odd-ball item I spotted on the satellite photos, something for sale that should not have been. Return tomorrow and I’ll show you a prime example of what should be called false advertising.
           Moving over to Lakeland, we tried to look at a property on Main Street, but it was inhabited by the evicted tenant, a totally drunk crabby old lady, stewed to the gills in the middle of the afternoon. In any case, I rejected the place because it was not only on Main Street, it was build before the widened the road, so the traffic is roaring past twenty feet from the front door. Not my concept of an ideal retirement.

           The only other thing of note was us trying to find Nick's Pizza on the way back from Plant City. The town has two main roads. North-south and east-west. This did not stop us from getting five sets of directions. After chasing around, we opted for a bag full of McD's near-food and 7-11 coffee. I was sound asleep as soon as I hit the pillow, JZ says he was up all night watching movies. I never heard a thing. But downtown Lakeland is similar to Las Olas. The few places open after six are for Yuppies putting on airs. I'm not a fan of Yuppies, except the nice looking slim blonde females. Them, I can deal with.
           We also discovered a interesting quirk. Unless a road is perfectly straight, JZ cannot find his way to places we've been if it is more than ten days earlier. Yet he remembers every woman he talks to. If a gal tells him her kid's birthdays, JZ can amaze me with his memory for details like that. He can talk to women who I consider total strangers and remember everything about her because they met once. Like those barmaids in Plant City, and it it's not just because barmaids are his type and not mine. Yet he could not find his way to that bar even though we were there in December. I had to take over driving because he is also quite terrible at following directions.
           In fact, I'll tell you about one of his driving quirks that gets my goat. If we are driving on a six lane and he knows we have to make a turn, he subconsciously changes over to the far wrong-side lane around a half-mile before the ramp. So as we approach the intersection, he has to cut through traffic like a maniac to get back into the turn lane. Seriously, he has no idea he does that. So I asked him what he didn't like about my driving. He thinks I hug the center line. But that is an illusion, I drive precisely down the middle of the lane. I used to be a driving instructor.


Last Laugh
I don't get this. Here, you try.

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