Brick’s Blog

     My daughter is the ultimate prepster. She even has a battered copy of The Official Preppy Handbook. Therefore, it should be no surprise that the J. Crew catalogue comes to my house. Since I am an old prepster myself, I like to thumb through the catalogue whenever it arrives at our home.

     I didn’t know until this morning (thank you, Google & Wikipedia) that J. Crew has only been around since 1983.  My impression had always been that it was a venerable old line New England clothier who specialized in the classic prep look, which was rolled out nationally due to the mail order success of LL Bean. Wrong.

     Please correct me if I am mistaken, but didn’t J. Crew once have a tailored Brooks Brothers like look? For some reason, I have always associated Nantucket red pants and cotton sweaters with J. Crew. There is no question that the predominant material of J. Crew products is still cotton, it’s just cotton that has never met an iron.

    I don’t get it. The J. Crew catalogue is page after page of crumbled rumbled goods. The models look like they’re wearing the dirty clothes found on my son’s bedroom floor. J., I occasionally see items in your catalogue that interest me, but buddy they need to be ironed. 

     Currently, I serve on the Education Committee with the Richmond Association of Realtors (i.e. RAR). I am sure many of the younger members of that committee roll their eyes whenever I begin to wax and wane on the "good old days" of real estate. While I am the first to appreciate and praise all our modern conveniences (ask me about pre cell phone days some time), I do miss how impersonal real estate has become.

     In the good old days, whenever we had an offer for a listing agent, it was necessary to coordinate the delivery of the offer. Most times this meant physically placing the offer in the listing agent’s hands. The same applied to counters; and due to the nature of real estate, many of these exchanges were nocturnal. For some of the oldtimers in the Richmond real estate game, I can remember the exact place I met many of these people for the first time. I might not remember exactly when or who the parties to the contract were, but usually I can remember where the property was located that we were negotiating. 

     Nowadays, an offer can be transmitted via facsimile or e-mailed as a .pdf. With current gas prices, this is not all bad, but it does take away some of the personal nature of the business. These days it is not uncommon for me to be in a committee meeting at the RAR and be seated next to someone I don’t recognize. After we introduce ourselves, I often find it is someone with whom I have done a prior transaction, but just had never met. 

     Real Estate Youngsters, think about occasionally delivering a contract and meeting the other agent. If you insist on conducting business electronically, how about doing so with .pdfs? Your facsimiles are just too blurred for my tired old eyes. 

     I feel a little bit like Shoeless Joe Jackson myself these days. There was a time when you couldn’t drive through a neighborhood and not find a father and son out "whipping the pill."  Growing up with my three brothers, we had a hall closet where all our athletic gear was stored. Basically, it contained 3 things - a baseball, a football and a basketball. Of course, there were gloves, bats, and maybe the odd tennis racket in the closet, too, but hours of enjoyment and entertainment could and were had with one of the balls, especially the baseball.

     For the majority of the year, baseball was the sport. Every recess at school, every afternoon, and every weekend day was spent playing baseball. I can remember Saturdays where a group of us would just gather at a vacant field in the town of Warsaw and play all day. The only break would be when one of our mothers would call us in to feed us all a quick sandwich. No need for carpools, we’d ride our bikes there. No need for uniforms, since we’d play as "shirts and skins." And no trophies needed, since we all knew and accepted who the better players were and we knew with practice we could improve.

     And our equipment? Many times we felt lucky to have one ball even if it was wrapped with electrical tape to keep it from unwinding. Our bats invariably were broken and had been mended and made playable with brads and the indispensable cure-all, electrical tape. Our gloves were soft and pliable due to our constant applications of saddle soap and our fist pounding to get the pocket just right.

     These days when I do see a father and son playing catch it evokes many fond memories, even the ones involving broken windows! 

     I bank with BB&T. If you don’t know what BB&T is short for - it is Branch Banking & Trust. BB&T’s origins are in Wilson, NC.  Wilson is a sleepy eastern Carolina town with deep agricultural roots. If you have ever known any true Tar Heels from eastern Carolina, then you know what their accent sounds like. Nite, lite, rite are good examples.

    So what’s with the BB&T’s ATM at the corner of Broad and Gaskins? This ATM services BB&T’s clients with a clipped English accent. This just ain’t rite, when I need sum cash I don’t need to here dat my transactun is bein’ "pro’cessed."  Just git me my money.    

     Do you love ebay as much as I do? Do you proudly announce "I got it on ebay" when someone asks you where you got something? Do you marvel at how cheaply you got something on ebay despite often exorbitant shipping . Have you ever gone to say a retail outlet like Orvis to try on an item that you had no intention of buying just to make sure you had the size right? Do you anxiously await your ebay purchases and track their progress daily through UPS, USPS, or FedEx until they arrive at your door? Have you quit buying retail? 

     Later today, I know I’ll get to say "I got them on ebay" when I play in a GRSMGA (that’s Greater Richmond Senior Men’s Golf Association) tournament at Richmond Country Club. See, someone will inquire about my pants. I get all of my golf pants on ebay and I am not talking about a pair of Dockers. Striped, plaid, madras, and even embroidered pants can be found in my personal Doug Saunders (you X’ers & Y’ers may have to Google) closet of golf pants. I believe "look good play good" so I’ll be donning a pair of embroidered pants shortly and heading to the course. BTW, I had shined my golf shoes yesterday.

     Thank you, ebay. Where else could you buy a pair of pants that typically retail for a minimum of $75 and after buying, shipping and altering have less than $30 invested? Yesterday, I sold my daughter’s complete set of golf clubs for $398. I had purchased them new retail 2 years ago for $300. No, she’s not without clubs that’s just another great ebay tale. Yeah, I have been tricked a few times on ebay, but in those instances you play the shipping twice and learn there are certain things you can’t buy on ebay. Anyway, I need to go get ready for the course.

     Oh, the pants. They’re khakis with red embroidered seaplanes. Got a red shirt that goes great with them, too. So after I answer the question where did I get those pants, I know I’ll get the follow up question "what do you do?", which was the real reason for wearing the pants in the first place. I love you, ebay!

     Yesterday, I was finishing a monthly mailing I do. Normally, I have my wife proofread these things before I compile them, but I was running late this month so I forged ahead alone. MISTAKE. Yes, I had proofed it several times. Since I was convinced it was perfect, I began signing my letters, stuffing my envelopes, and applying my postage. About a third of the way through, there it was. An adverb made into an adjective with two little letters, ly.

     So what to do? Reprint all the letters? See if I can salvage the postage from the letters already stamped? No, the decision I made was to just keep going and mark out the mistake on the remaining letters. My reasoning was simple. Since the topic of my letter was my blog, it’s my hope that those who receive the "mistaken" letter will find this mea culpa on my blog.

     Yet, the real question is why do I continually make this mistake? Do I "proofread" what I thought I wrote? I know you have seen that e-mail where the letters in the words are all scrambled and yet you can easily read it. Why can my wife immediately find these mistakes when she proofs? Is it a matter of how the male brain is wired? Are men looking at the forest, while women see the trees? If you know the answer, please let me know. I’d like to quit being such a dunce.  

     I listed one of my favorite clubs on eBay this a.m. Sniffle, sniffle, weep, weep. Here’s the description for it:

     Shhh….I don’t want my old friend, Baffler, to know that I am betraying him. Just call me, Judas. This really is like getting rid of an old friend. This was my first utility club. The loft is 22 ° which is about a 3 iron, but due to the mass of the head will carry further and really bores through the air. You’ll love it out of the rough. In season, I have a weekly match with an old college buddy of mine; he was delighted when I retired this club. He was tired of getting "baffled."

     I live in Virginia and typically play twice a week from April through October with a range outing between rounds. Usually, I regrip my clubs every season, so this Lamkin grip is in very good shape. Shaft is Cobra Ultralight R-Flex. Club face and sole shows use but in overall good condition.

     I am an avid golfer and take great care of my clubs. This club was relunctantly "retired" in ‘06 when I replaced my existing bag configuration (lowest iron I carry now is a 6) and "Old Baffler" at 22 ° didn’t fit the gaps in my bag, so he was "put out to pasture" in my garage. "Old Baffler" deserves better and longs for the great outdoors and warmth of a summer day. Baff, old buddy, I am sorry, but you know my daughter is now playing and how long I have waited for one of my children to share my love of the game. She needs new clubs. I promise I’ll find you a good home and someone who will rely on you as much I have. Good night, Sweet Prince. 

     As many of you know, I am an avid, but average, golfer. I love the game that Mark Twain described as “a good walk ruined.” So you can imagine how my heart soared last year, when my daughter, Lucy Gordon, expressed an interest in golf and her desire to attempt to make the junior varsity golf team at her school. Since she was a complete novice of the game, I tried to temper her ambition by saying she should be satisfied if she was just allowed to practice with the team until her skills improved. Anyway, I already know that I will not lower my handicap or get the first lucky bounce this year, because the Golf Gods have smiled on me and Lucy Gordon is now a member of her junior varsity team. Was it her consummate skills? No, it was the numbers – 10 available slots and 10 players who tried out, but who cares. I know over the next few months she will vastly improve at golf; and I am grateful.  

You always hear golf promoted as a great character building experience, since it is the only sport where you can call a penalty on yourself; and are expected to do so. What Lucy Gordon does not know yet is that she is about to have the greatest learning experience any soon to be 15 year old young woman could ever have. For the next 2 ½ months, every weekday afternoon she will spend several hours in the company of 9 young men. Now most fathers would cringe at that thought, but I know the advantage to be gained. See, Lucy Gordon will quickly find out that the “male animal” is actually pretty simple. She will find these young men don’t worry about who said what about whom. She’ll learn that guys are just guys and why words like “hey, fellas, watch this” are the most used last words of men. When athletics are involved, men are out to impress other men; and in doing so, they reveal so much about themselves. Whether its arrogance, ego, insecurity, even compassion, it can all be seen when men are playing with a ball.  

If you have ever seen the movie, Diner, than you know the bridegroom, Eddie, wants his fiancée, Elise, to pass a football quiz on the Baltimore Colts before he’ll marry her. Hey, future beaus of Lucy Gordon, if she ever asks you to grab two of your best friends to fill a foursome be mindful it may be more than golf outing.

     Just like Michael Corleone in Godfather 3, "Every time I think I’m out, they pull me back in."  Yep, there I was out for dinner last night and the restaurant had its TV’s tuned to the "Great American Race." I confess, I watched, I rooted, and like Fredo in G2, I said a Hail Mary when a Toyota didn’t take the checkered for the Daytona 500. Take that, Joe Gibbs, you traitor.

     How can I guy who has won the Super Bowl three times, won 3 Winston Cups with Chevrolets (yeah, I know one was a Nextel, but I can’t bring myself to calling the Cup - Nextel), now be fielding an all TO’YO’TA team? And if it hadn’t been for Mercedes Benz, which owns Chrysler/Dodge, a damn TOY’OTA (how do you say this brand?) would have gone to Victory Lane in the 50th running of the 500. Shame on you, Joe! Kicking Chevrolet, when it’s down. GM only lost 39 billion last year. 

     Although I have said many times that I am done with NASCAR, it’s official this time. NASCAR now calls their redesigned big boxy safety first prototype the "Car of Tomorrow". Funny to me, it looks like a Prius.