In which house-hunting takes a turn for the suck

We've identified a house we want to buy. We've actually had our eye on it for quite some time. In fact, back in June, when I first kinda semi-seriously flirted with the idea of selling our current home and moving, I searched some real estate sites just to see what kind of properties were available and whether or not a move would even be worth it. This house was the very first one I looked at, and convinced me we could make a move work.

So with our house under contract, our lender pre-approved us for a certain maximum price level we could offer on any particular property. Once we close on this home's sale, said max loan increases, as we'd no longer be carrying that mortgage. So we made an offer on the Prime Target.

A little background is in order. Prime Target is a Fannie Mae-owned property. It was a foreclosure. It has been on the market for 100-plus days at this point, and undergone several price cuts in that time to bring it close to our pre-approved loan amount before closing on our sale. Our offer was on the low end--our max ceiling was still less than the current asking price. We had reason for optimism, though. We were offering about 10 percent below asking price, and we'd seen Fannie Mae homes sold for that kind of price cut when they'd been on the market as long as this one. In addition to it being on the market for a long 100-plus days, other homes in this area and price bracket were newer and swankier. This one wasn't so much a fixer-upper as a cleaner-upper. We did some digging, and discovered it'd actually been on the market, off and on, since 2008 with no takers prior to going into foreclosure. I tracked down the original owners, and they were quite forthcoming about the circumstances of the foreclosure, their plans for the home (it's completed, but a lot of finishing touches such as replacing the vinyl siding with stone and stucco weren't accomplished). They want someone to buy and live in the house and bring it back from the brink of neglect Fannie Mae has left it in. They bid us good luck in our effort to buy it. There were quite a number of cosmetic issues that detracted from it's potential value to the average buyer. For us, though, it was a blank slate upon which to put our stamp. More than 3 acres of property, no HOA and a triple garage with upstairs apartment that simply begged to be converted into a full-blown studio for Lisa On Location Photography. It was perfect for us, decidedly imperfect for anyone else.

Today Fannie Mae responded to our offer, saying they had received a competing offer and inviting us to make our "best and final" bid.

You're telling me this house has languished on the market for seven fucking years without buyer interest, and the very week we make an offer somebody else does as well? Really? Really? Coincidence much? My gut tells me this is total and complete bullshit, a fake auction conjured by Fannie Mae to squeeze a few more pennies out of us. A little internet research turns up any number of people who've experienced the exact same thing as us. There's no way to prove the competing bid exists. There's no way to prove it doesn't. And there is no way for us to up our bid--at least not until Oct. 20, when we close on the sale of our current home (at which point this "best and final" auction will be ancient history).

At this point, there's nothing for it. There are three outcomes, all beyond our power to affect: 1) out current "best and final" wins the day and we get the house straight up, 2) we lose the house and someone else goes "neener neener" at us, or 3) all "bids" are rejected and the house stays on the market, or gets de-listed for a couple of weeks only to reappear at a later date. Regardless of how this shakes out, we'll be fine... given enough time. But again, I dread the prospects of having to go the short-term rental route as we hunt for a replacement that ticks as many boxes as Prime Target does.

Losing out on Prime Target is one thing, but the overwhelming feeling of being scammed is tough to stomach, regardless of the outcome.

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Under contract

Have I mentioned how much I hate moving? Because I do. I hate everything about it, from the selling of the house to the buying of the new house to the actual packing and hauling and storing and trying to make vastly differing closing dates work so that we don't find ourselves homeless for a spell. It's actually every bit as bad as I remember from last time--which was 11 years ago. Nothing is different, other than the fact that this move is, believe it or not, by choice.

The Wife and I are fully committed to living out the remainder of our lives in whichever house we end up with, just so we never have to move again. Oh, yeah--we don't have a destination yet. Joy.

Yesterday marked the end of our prospective buyers' option period. Which means they're locked in to buy, and we're locked in to sell. The closing date's roughly three weeks out, but could possibly be moved up if their financing falls into place. Which is fine by us. After that point, we have a three-week lease-back, and then vacate. Won't that be fun? The buyers are a young couple, married a little over a year, practically kids. They don't really know what they're doing, but that's fine, because neither did we when we bought our first house. They're getting a great deal, though. They should be happy with their new home.

But back to that option period, and the source of my current headaches. Their building inspector turned up some issues they wanted us to address. No surprise, that's what building inspectors do. But the guy was a jerk, and shut off the power to the house even though he knew The Wife was working on a wedding on her computer at the time. Fried the entire batch of photos she had open in Lightroom, and made the computer very glitchy for about a week, until she emptied the entire cache to wipe the slate clean. And he departed leaving lights on, the AC set to sub-zero conditions and faucets trickling water--pretty much completely disrespecting us and our home. But one of the big demands they had from him was to install peak vents along our roof. A somewhat condescending explanation accompanied, which just about set us off. Our current vents weren't good enough for them? What they were demanding was no small task, and no small expense. Especially after we'd gotten a brand-new, Energy Star roof installed just a year earlier. We were this close to firing off a blistering counter-offer when I got a little twitchy feeling. The inspector's report hadn't said "install more vents," it said "install vents." Suspicious, but not really believing it possible, I pulled the ladder upstairs to take a look inside the attic and visually inspect our extant vents. That photo up above is what I saw. The roofers had shingled over our vents! Checking our contract, there were clearly line item charges for A) removal of existing vents and B) re-installation of said vents. I don't know where to begin. Fortunately, the roofing company seemed suitably embarrassed by this mess and ought to have the situation corrected before I get home. Except now I get a concerned call from home that gives me a dread feeling that even this simple task may have been botched. *sigh*

Now Playing: Sting Mercury FallingBut that's just one thing to fix. The concrete slab outside where the central AC unit sits has subsided over the past decade, so that the unit now sits at an angle. That needs to be leveled. I'm doing this myself, and managed to raise the shebang about 4 inches yesterday. Another 4 inches should do it, and I'll tackle that this evening. Another chore is to climb a ladder and check out a couple of bare spots where wind has pulled away siding. We suspect the siding simply telescoped into adjacent panels as we've never found any loose pieces on the ground, but it's still a logistical pain to accomplish two stories up. The final item is one I can't DIY, however. Our electric meter box has somehow pulled out of the siding and whatever it was mounted to inside the wall, and is now just dangling. It looks like a simple fix--three long screws, maybe use some sort of drywall anchor to make it more stable, and you're done in 10 minutes. Except the meter box is locked, and I'm not terribly keen on working around high voltage. I called the utility company, and they refuse to help. "Call an electrician," they said. So I called an electrician, who'd be happy to help, but they need the utility company to come out and unlock the box. And thus an infinite loop is created.

All of this would be more tolerable if we simply knew where we'd be living in another month, but even that is denied to us. The house we want, that ticks pretty much every box for us, won't take contingency contracts, period. And the amount we're pre-approved for whilst owning our current house falls just short of the magic number to get it under contract. So we wait, and watch, and occasionally look at other houses in an effort to compile a viable "Plan B" list in case our hoped-for home gets bought out from under us as we wait for our current house to close.

Have I mentioned how much I hate moving? Because I do.

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Alamo City Comicon

So, the family and I went to Alamo City Comic Con today, in downtown San Antonio. These kinds of uber-huge commercial conventions aren't really my thing. They're big, noisy, chaotic affairs that seemingly exist only to separate attendees from their money in the most efficient manner possible. But Bug's invented a super-hero of his own, and wanted to talk with the creator of Spider-Man, otherwise known as Stan Lee, about how to develop it as a property (really, he wanted help making a movie, but he's eight, so the nuance of building a character's popularity over time is lost on him). Monkey Girl and Fairy Girl both wanted to go, and The Wife thought it'd be fun, so we did the one-day whirlwind visit.

First off, traffic was awful. Bad even for downtown San Antonio. Stuck in gridlock, I let the family out to make their way to the convention center whilst I hunted for parking. As my luck would have it, the parking garage I made for was already full, so I had to work my way to my second choice. And I would like to take this opportunity to express how much I despise drivers who think they're being clever by driving ahead one lane over, only to cut in at the last minute. And you know who I hate just as much? The assholes who think they're being nice by letting those cutters in. Hey, nice guy, why don't you wave me around so I can get ahead as well? I've only been sitting behind you for the past 45 minutes. But I eventually parked and made my way several blocks over to the convention, which gave my blood pressure time to calm down. An hour after I'd dropped them off, I met up with The Wife and Bug--the girls had already bolted on their own--and headed into the artists' alley area. I wanted to find John Picacio first off, as I had something for him--a humorous, San Antonio-themed La Loteria game put out by the San Antonio Express-News for the San Antonio Association of Hispanic Journalists annual meeting held a couple of months back. I found him and we had a good talk, bemoaning the impersonal nature of uber-cons like this (but he did point out that Alamo City, being local, treated the smaller/local guests much better than the national conventions did), and he thought the Loteria hilarious. The man was clearly running on fumes from operating his booth four days straight, so I let him get back to interacting with attendees/potential new fans, as he can see me any time he wants.

The Wife and Bug had gone off on their own whilst I chatted with Picacio, so I went to track them down. On the way, I ran across my daughters. I suppose I should explain at this point that they both have a thing for cosplay. Monkey Girl, the elder, is working on a steampunk outfit that is a long way from completion, so she simply dressed like a teen. Fairy Girl, on the other hand, is like so many other girls in that she's obsessed with Frozen and Elsa, the Ice Queen, in particular. So she attended the convention as Elsa. And a mighty fine Elsa she made, too--dozens of little girls flocked to have their picture taken with here (a bunch of older girls, too, including one in costume as "Hipster Elsa"). Fairy Girl is not quite so outgoing as her sister, and as such, was taken aback by her sudden celebrity status. By the end of the day, though, she was a veritable Disney princess, with the pose and smile down pat. It made me happy to see so many people fawning over her, and it made her giggle.

As for the main event, Bug meeting Stan Lee, that was a non-starter from the get-go. The thing I really hate about these commercial cons is the fact that they charge extra--lots extra--for anyone to get within spitting distance of the headlining guests. Which is why, for all their missteps, I love the smaller, fan-run conventions: You can chat with the guest of honor at any random party or even go to dinner with them. They're intimate and personal. With the massive cons, the little kids who are presumably the idealistic, future audience of the form, they're simply shut out by all the collectors and whatnot out to make a killing on Ebay. It's depressing, really. I wonder if folks like Lee even know there are alternative ways to do things? So, we told Bug well ahead of time he wouldn't be meeting Stan Lee. He kind of understood it, but his experience is with smaller conventions, so he kept looking around in the dealers' room/artists' alley area, expecting to catch a glimpse. How many eight-year-olds still get excited about the prospect of meeting Stan Lee in this day and age? But all was not lost. Bug's absolute favorite super-hero is Batman, okay? So guess who had a four-table spread set up? Neal Adams! I had no idea he'd be there. I mean, my obsession with Green Arrow is pretty well documented, and Adams is a big, big, big reason for that. I explained to Bug who Adams was, and he happily picked out a dramatic Batman-by-Adams print for me to buy for him. I didn't go total fanboy--Bug was the reason I was at the con in the first place--so in addition to Bug's print, I got myself a Green Arrow print for myself (to match the Grell on my wall), and went to have them autographed by the man himself. I have to say, Adams was great. Bug, chattering all day about his super-hero, was suddenly tongue-tied. Adams engaged him in small talk and tried to coax him out of his shell. When Bug finally articulated that he had a super-hero and wanted to know how to get it published, Adams told him first he had to write out the story, then draw the story, and then have Daddy pay the printer to get it printed in book form. When I suggested maybe we could do it as a web comic, Adams shut that down, saying no, Daddy had to pay to have it published. I'm not convinced those are the answers Bug wanted, but at the end of the day he came away happy he got to talk with a man who drew Batman for many years and gave him his undivided attention for five minutes. And Bug didn't mention Stan Lee again.

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Friday Night Videos

Here's Huey Lewis and the News with "Heart and Soul," one of their hits off the album Sports. Interesting thing about this song, a band I really liked back in the day, Exile, recorded it several years before Huey Lewis did (and also several years before Exile shifted to country). It was very much not a hit for Exile. If you've ever wondered how important production, arrangement and instrumentation is to the success of any particular song, this is exhibit A.

Previously on Friday Night Videos... Sheena Easton.

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Texas Mead Fest 2014

Last Saturday, after completing my Chicken Ranch presentation to the Red Hat ladies, I went by the 3rd Annual Texas Mead Fest, held at Rohan Meadery just outside La Grange. The Wife and I went two years ago, when it was also held at Rohan Meadery, and had a great time. Last year it was in our back yard, at Texas Mead Works in Seguin, but we missed it because of a wedding.

I was flying solo this time, so it wasn't nearly so much fun. But I wanted to go since I'd entered two bottles of my homebrew mead in their mazer competition, and wanted to see what my scores were. My plum melomel had some issues--an unpleasant nose for one--and I knew it wouldn't do great, but my vanilla ice wine tea metheglin was very good and I really wanted to see what the judges thought. So to bide my time until they announced the contest results, I did tastings. And I've gotta say, there were some mighty impressive meads to be had here (a few less-than-stellar ones as well, but luckily I only sampled two that were disappointing). First up was Rhapsody (below), a semi-sweet blackberry melomel from Meridian Hive Meadery out of Austin. I've never heard of them before, but they had interesting meads listed on their blackboard. I had to give them a try. The mead had a nice reddish color and had a nice, fruity bounce in the mouth, like a good sangria, only lighter. Honey notes were subdued, and with an alcohol content of just 6.7 percent, it would appeal to anyone from the 80s who went nuts for wine coolers. And I don't mean that as an insult. This is a nice, easily drinkable mead that's perfect for a hot summer day when a higher alcohol content is a liability.

Next up was a bochet, or "burnt mead" from Enchanted Manor Winery, the folks who supply the official Texas Renaissance Festival mead. I confess I've had this before, and knew what to expect. Bochet is made by cooking the honey until it turns almost black--it's reduced and carmelized--and the result is a sweet, robust body with a creamy mouthfeel and rich, complex flavor. I've toyed with the idea of attempting one on my own, but fear of botching things has made me reluctant to take the plunge. Maybe this winter I'll work up the nerve...

After the semi-sweet blackberry and bochet, I wanted something drier, so I returned to Meridian Hive to try their dry black button sage metheglin. This was a mead that really stood out. I could tell its well-balanced quality. There were notes of honey and sage, yes, but also butterscotch (non-sweet, which took me a while to identify) and a very distinct undertone of liquorice. I despise liquorice, so obviously I did not like this mead. Be that as it may, I could still appreciate its well-constructed nature. People who like absinthe will find this a likeable, low-key alternative. After that, I tried Meridian Hive's oaked tupelo honey (below), a 7 percent semi-sweet traditional mead, mainly because I've never had tupelo honey before, let alone a mead made from it. It was very pale and crystal clear in the glass, almost straw-colored. And it was easily the lightest, most delicate mead I've ever tasted. It reminded me of a good pinot grigio, it had that quality to it, and was just barely sweet. It was crisp and bright, and it impressed me a good deal. I was disappointed The Wife wasn't with me, because this was a mead she would love.

About this time they announced the homebrew competition winners. The contest has become a lot more formalized since that first one two years ago, with entries being due weeks before the festival and all sorts of beer/wine/mead judging regulations. In 2012 you just showed up with a bottle and gave it to them. This way is better, for no other reason than the fact we didn't have to wait around forever as the overwhelmed judging staff worked its way through hundreds of bottles. Cutting to the chase, I didn't win. I didn't place. My plum melomel was hurt badly by the off scent it gives off ("vegetable" was the official description on the score sheet) and its acid was too high, but despite that it finished higher than my prickly pear and fig melomels I entered before. My vanilla ice wine tea metheglin, though, that's what I was eager to see. And even though it didn't place, it scored 38 out of 50 possible points, by far the best showing I've ever had. The judge wrote "A nice, very drinkable mead. It looks like you achieved what you were after." Yay! My initial impression is vindicated. The only downside is that I made this as a one-gallon test batch, and it's almost all gone. I will tweak the recipe and try to improve (more tannin and a touch more acid) once this infernal move is completed. But still, I'm very happy with this result.

After that, I had one ticket left, so I threw caution to the wind and tried Meridian Hive's raspberry chipotle mead. I've made jalapeno mead before, and know how difficult it is to get the right balance of sweet and heat in this type of mead. And raspberries can either be sublime or awful--there seems to be no middle ground in drinks. So even though I love raspberries and chipotle, I was wary. But holy moly, this stuff was fantastic! Easily my favorite mead of the day. The raspberry gave it an up-front fruity profile, but it didn't scream "RASPBERRY!" It was more subdued, less sharp, more like dewberries maybe. I found that very interesting. Even more interesting was the smoky chipotle heat--more heat than I was expecting with chipotle, but a restrained, disciplined heat. It reminded me for all the world of the pleasant burn you feel in the throat when drinking a good brandy. Folks, I savored this mead. I would've taken home several bottles, were it not for the fact that this was an experimental batch and they didn't have it in bottles--only growlers that cost $45 a pop. I couldn't swing that. But seriously, I hope they put this into production. It's that great.

So yeah, if you get the chance, check out the Texas Mead Fest. Or check out Dancing Bee (our favorite from 2012), Griffin Meadery, Darcy's Vineyard or Thorin's Viking Mead (actually, Thorin was a no-show as far as I can tell, but we'll give 'em some love anyway). Mead is fun. It's historical. It has all the diversity of wine, if not moreso, and I suspect meaderies are becoming the new boutique hobby that wineries were a decade ago. And I can't say I can complain.

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Chicken Ranch: Of Sheriff Flournoy and Scarlett Hens

On this date in Chicken Ranch history, 1902 to be exact, J.T. "Big Jim" Flournoy, the larger-than-life Fayette County sheriff in the center of the epic Chicken Ranch dust-up of legend, was born. Happy birthday to Big Jim, who passed away in 1982. As the saying goes, they don't make 'em like him anymore.

Marking Sheriff Jim's birthday isn't the only Chicken Ranch news of late--no, sadly I don't have a publishing deal yet. Rather, I've developed something of a speaking career as the go-to authority on the infamous brothel. Those of you keeping score at home may remember I gave presentations ("lectures" seems too pretentious a word, doesn't it?) at the Nesbitt Memorial Library in Columbus, the San Antonio Writers Guild and the Fayette Public Library in La Grange. I've honed my presentation to the point where it's pretty doggone tight. Through trial and error, I've gotten a pretty good idea of what works and what doesn't, and the audience responds.

So Saturday, Sept. 20, I was the guest speaker for the Queen's Confab of Texas (QCT) #16, sponsored by the La Grange Scarlett Hens chapter of the Red Hat Society. Yeah, that Red Hat Society. And I have to say I couldn't have asked for a better audience! Take a look at this crew and try telling me we didn't have a blast:

They soaked up my tour of the ruins, asking plenty of questions, and found the history of all Chicken Ranch fakes for sale interesting. But Miss Edna's story held them in thrall. What she accomplished with her life, the obstacles and setbacks she overcame, really hit home for these ladies. More than one commented that "she was a real person" as opposed to the over-the-top Dolly Parton caricature from the movie. That Miss Edna had the same hopes and dreams as a child that any of them may have had, and lived out the final decades of her life in quiet anonymity humanized her for them. One piped up from the back that she'd rather see a movie version of Miss Edna's life than watch The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas again. Many of them came up to me afterward and thanked me for the presentation, telling me how interesting and meaningful it was. And they bought copies of Ghosts of the Chicken Ranch. Lots and lots of copies, so that I need to reorder. For a writer, this is always a good thing. It's nice to know when I've put together a book people want!

And I really need to get those Ghosts of the Chicken Ranch copies ordered ASAP--Oct. 9 I'm heading back to La Grange for a meeting of the Episcopal Church Women for St. James Episcopal Church. The Red Hens set the bar pretty high, but I have confidence the Episcopal women will have a good accounting of themselves.

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Friday Night Videos

In honor of Scotland's almost-independence, I'm featuring today my favorite almost-Scottish singer, Sheena Easton. I say "almost-Scottish" because although she grew up outside of Glasgow, she's earned some notoriety over the past decade or so for her conspicuous suppression of her native accent. Since I've featured her here multiple times, finding something new of hers to feature was a challenge, but I've struck paydirt with her rendition of "He's a Rebel," an obscure cover by her from her 1983 NBC special, Act One. It was as gloriously cheesy as you'd expect an early-80s variety show to be, and this video bears it out. Pay special attention to her backup singers. So, what does this have to do with Scottish almost-independence? Nothing, really, except I like to think she's dedicating the song to William Wallace.

Previously on Friday Night Videos... Genesis.

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