So, how do you like my new shoes? They are, according to the Esquire “Best Dressed Real Man” contest, the hottest thing for men this Spring.

When I was asked to enter the contest from several people who are always in awe of my innate sense of fashion and style, I saw that these shoes were on the list of what was considered the ultimate in men’s fashion, and I had to have them. Since money isn’t an object for the guppy set, I used my cell phone to call the valet to bring ’round my newly-leased Lexus LX09 Hybrid SUV and drove myself over to Neiman Marcus to get a pair. I mean heck, they were only $495 a pair. I purchased a pair in black, too, since they were such a great buy. (You don’t just get these shoes, you go through a purchasing experience at their sales event). And while I was there, I got fitted for three new suits and picked up a half-dozen new fine silk ties. My old suits and ties were getting a little tattered. I’ve been wearing them for a few months now. Time for Spring duds and also time to donate my hardly-used clothing to the Planet Aid bin in the grocery store’s parking lot.

And what a pleasant surprise! They gave me a set of men’s hair and skin products as a gift for buying the suits (wow, a $100 value!), consisting of green tea face wash (that’s the latest thing, fellas!), herbal skin softener, under-eye toner, and ginseng hair rinse. Oh, and bottle of ode-de-realman cologne, too! Wow!

In reviewing on-line articles about cocktail attire, where it says that “boots under trousers are an abomination,” I know a new suit, tie, and expensive dress wingtip shoes will be the hit of the party at the latest gathering in Guppyville!

After the great shopping experience, I dropped into a nearby Starbucks. I began Twittering on my laptop. While sipping a java chip frappacinno, admiring the new shoes, I sat back and said…

OH MY GOD! WHAT A NIGHTMARE!

April Fools!

Not much time to blog today… I’m sore as heck. My partner and I spent 12 hours yesterday cleaning up that house that I bought for my rental investments. Great thing is that it is now clean as a whistle. I got all of my renovation and repair estimating done, and it will not take much to bring the house to livable condition.

I will make a few calls today to some painters for estimates. A thorough interior paint job is needed, and of all the trades, painting is not something I like to do.

Today, I file for the permits I require to do the various renovation projects that need to be done. My county issues permits for everything — there is probably one even for blowing your nose. Those things are costly! But it’s just the price I have to pay.

Next week, I will “up the electrical,” meaning that I will install a new circuit breaker panel to bring the house up to today’s power demand and safety standards. A few more weeks of after-work time, where I will install new outlets throughout (there is only one in each room) and central air conditioning, and we’ll be all set. Many years ago I got an electrician’s license because I enjoyed doing electrical work, and I was too poor and too cheap to pay an electrician to do home renovation projects (especially on my first house, which I had to rebuild literally from the inside out). Once I do my electrical work, I will ask a buddy who is a Master Electrician to connect it to the grid.

The worst part of the house is the kitchen. It’s awful. Someone installed baby blue tile all over — on the floor, walls, and countertops. That all has to go. I will break that out and replace it with better flooring and Corian countertops in neutral colors. I’ll also put in a new sink. The appliances are all in good shape and are relatively new.

With those changes, the house will be ready to go. This is the first post-WWII Cape Cod in which I have not had to replace all the windows. Someone seems to have installed new double-pane windows within the last decade. The rest of the house is in very good shape. Except for a lot of dust and some spiders, there wasn’t a whole lot to clean up. (Believe me, I have dealt with a lot worse.) The previous owner didn’t “trash” it. When the painting is done, I’ll install new carpeting.

I wore an old pair of Corcoran Field Boots as my work boots with camo BDUs. I like to wear BDUs when I do dirty work because they are loose and comfortable, and have lots of big pockets. My partner wore an old pair of Timberlands with jeans. And yes, we both wore tool belts. It just makes tools we need more handy when they’re at your waist. Sorry, no photo. I didn’t bring the camera, and my partner wouldn’t have wanted to be seen in a dusty, dirty condition. He is rather particular about how his image is displayed. I sure was happy to have his help.

I needed even more “spot help” when I was removing that old crappy aluminum awning that was propped up over the front door and steps. My tenant who occupies the house next door was coming home when he saw me struggling with it, and came over to help. Right after he got off work. Oh, did I mention he is a motor officer? Hmmm… nice “distraction” watching him in his motor boots as we tore that thing off the porch. He is a very nice guy and great tenant.

My partner and I are pooped, but we are basking in the aches and pains of a job well done.

They say that in bad financial times like these, it’s a time to buy when things are less expensive and there is a lot of competition in the market.

I have not been actively looking to buy any more houses. I already own seven houses (including the one in which we live) and a condo. Why so many? I actually lived in each of these homes as I renovated them from the inside to outside, making them liveable, comfortable homes. They are all within a few blocks of one another, in an old, mature neighborhood that is convenient to public transit and shopping. As I moved on, I put the previous house in a rental inventory that is dedicated to affordable housing for community heroes (cops, firefighters, teachers.)

Over 33 years since I bought my first “Harry-Homeowner Special,” I have learned a thing-or-two about determining if a house is worth fixing up and renting.

Last week, one of my tenants called to say that the house next to his had been vacant for some time. He said he thought he saw a truck hauling off what remained of the household contents a few months ago. He was concerned about the blight of a vacant property, which has become an eyesore and possibly worse.

I decided to look the property up in on-line records, and what did I discover but on the day I checked, the property converted to “bank owned,” meaning it was being foreclosed. I did more research, called some people, and found that the previous owners owed lots of money to lots of people, and probably skipped town. The bank that assumed ownership of the property, like most banks, really didn’t want it.

I put on my thinking cap. I checked the amount of back taxes that were due — not bad, considering. I dropped by the house after work and walked around it. The “outside bones” looked decent. New(er) roof, decent paint job, working gutters and downspouts, no broken windows, or other visible signs of damage. Sure, there were signs of neglect, but those things are minor and can be easily and quickly fixed.

I called the bank the next morning. After a couple hours of transfers and annoying “press-this-for-that” automated answering systems, I finally reached a live human being in the United States (a rarity these days) who was willing to talk to me about the property. He arranged for me to visit the property and inspect it. I brought along a good friend who is a professional home inspector. We found nothing materially wrong with the house — in fact, it was in excellent condition considering it had been abandoned and neglected.

It was time to act. I turned to the bank representative and made an offer based on what I knew about overdue taxes and the real-estate assessment. He couldn’t accept the offer then-and-there, but the next morning, I got a call from a higher-up at the bank, and we negotiated the terms. I got a really sweet deal because the bank did not want to carry another house in their already overburdened inventory of foreclosed properties.

I went to settlement yesterday, and my partner and I will be spending the day today (Sunday), cleaning up and preparing a list of actions that will be necessary to get the house into good shape for occupancy. I have a great renovation and construction estimating program on my laptop that covers all the details, down to the number of pounds of screws and nails that will be required.

Next… I pursue getting the property listed on the inventory for affordable housing so it can be made available for rent by more community heroes. Check back later!

Meanwhile, we’ve got our work boots and tool belts on!

I actually think I was born in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean — the time zone there fits my biorhythms better. That is, ever since I was a kid, I naturally awaken between 4 to 4:30am, every day. Even weekends.

On weekends when I wake up, I just snuggle closer to my partner and drift in and out of dreamland for a couple hours until he wakes up about 5:30 or 6. Weekdays, we both get up no later than 4:30.

I have always been that way — rising early and then getting to bed by 8:30 at night, or 9 if I’m stuck in a meeting or something.

I am lamenting about my biorhythms being out of whack with the rest of the world that I work with in my community. They have meetings and events that I attend that begin at 7pm if I’m lucky, or 7:30pm, which is more common. Most meetings are well-planned, and last just about two hours. But that’s 9:30pm! Too late for me. I often get up from a meeting if it’s still going on at 8:45pm and leave. After that, I can’t think well and I am just too tired to press on. (or want to.)

This is one reason why I will never run for office or become an elected official. The hours that they have to work never coincide with my biorhythms. It’s also a reason why I don’t attend some meetings or events to which I am invited — including those infernal fundraising dinner-dances. Seriously, I never quite could handle “late.”

And it’s another reason why I never really went out much to gay bars and such — “gay time” is shifted several hours later than most other’s time anyway… so there’s no way I can handle staying awake that late (which seems to me like “all night.”)

I honestly feel that my world is upside down. Everyone else seems to wake up around 6 or 7, and manage to stay awake until 10 or 11. I’m two to three hours “ahead” of everyone else. When they set meetings and events, they do it because it accommodates the schedules of most others. But not me.

I know other people who tell me that they get up early, but also stay awake until the wee hours of the morning. They claim that they only “need” four or fewer hours of sleep each night. They seem to manage, but I often wonder how they function. I certainly can’t manage on such a little amount of sleep each night.

Gay guys seem to keep really late hours when they surf the ‘net. About 30% of visitors to my website from the U.S. are visiting between midnight and 4am, Eastern Time. I won’t comment more about that — you can arrive at your own conclusions about that observation.

Well, anyway, I will just accept the fact that what they told me when we were in Australia is correct: our seasons are backwards, our hemisphere is upside down, and our time is all off. Perhaps my friends from the Land of Oz are on to something.

Life is short: (get some sleep!)

As my nonna would say, “[è] fa[tto]! Cosí sia! — which means literally, “it is done, so be it” but in its connotation, means generally, “that’s the way it is, take it or leave it.” This Italian phrase would be her way of expressing exasperation with whatever us kids came up with.

Afraid of a spider? Fa! Cosí sia!

Don’t want to eat vegetables? Fa! Cosí sia!

Your mean sister called you a name? Fa! Cosí sia!

A bit neurotic about something? Fa! Cosí sia!

Funny, I was just saying this expression to my partner, when he was going on and on about some minor little thing… I can’t even remember… Fa! Cosí sia!

I also said it in a jesting way to a friend when I described that when he made a choice to be my friend, he had to accept some of my neurotic behaviors. Fa! Cosí sia! (and just accept me as he does, with compassion for my crazy ways.)

Everyone has differences, or some may call “weird behaviors.” For example, my partner can’t stand it when the phone rings at home. I mean, he absolutely detests the disruption. It doesn’t matter who is calling, he just doesn’t want the phone to ring. If it does, he won’t answer it. He hates the phone, period, end-of-story. If we are both at home and the phone rings and I answer it, he glowers at me until I hang up.Fa! Cosí sia!

For me, I hate cell phones. The disruption. The huge expense for monthly service, making rich companies richer. I hate the fact that a cell-phone-yapping yuppie killed my motorcycle-riding buddy six years ago.

Well, Fa! Cosí sia! — to those who might think of calling me at home when my partner is home, or calling my cell phone, which I rarely have turned on or available (it’s usually buried at the bottom of my briefcase.) Just accept that some of us are weird, are slightly neurotic, or approach some things differently from others. We’re all different.

Life is short: Fa! Cosí sia!

The calendar indicates that finally here in the good ol’ USA, it’s Spring. The gardens are also beginning to indicate that it is Spring, too. TG!

The daffodils are in bloom, and look great. We have over 10,000 daffodil bulbs that bloom from now until mid-April. After the horrible events of September 11, 2001, my neighbors and I all got together and planted these bulbs along the ridge behind our houses. The bulbs have matured and naturalized. We enjoy a wonderful profusion of color — yellow, white, orange, multi-colored — every day for about a month.

Great thing about daffodils, too, is that the pesky deer leave them alone.

Happy astronomical first-full-day-of-Spring, everyone!

I’m not Irish, but on March 17, St. Patrick’s Day, everybody is. Shown here is our chef, Guido, dropping green sprinkles on green-iced cupcakes he helped me bake. I’m taking them to work today to share with my colleagues. (My partner is helping Guido, if you’re working who has the hairy arm. It’s a tossup as to who has more fur. LOL!)

I have two strong memories of this day:

(1) it was my parent’s wedding anniversary. My gosh, they married 69 years ago! My Mom always loved St. Patrick’s Day. She would prepare corned beef and cabbage every year on this day — but fortunately she never forced me to eat the cabbage. I couldn’t come near it, even back in the day when I could eat vegetables. I am remembering her and my father fondly today. I used my Mom’s recipe for the cupcakes, which I made from scratch, as she taught me so many years ago.

(2) in 1978, a close friend and study-mate at the University played “hooky” to sit on the South Chapel lawn on an usually warm, dry, and sunny St. Patty’s Day with me. We enjoyed lunch and drank a couple beers (back in the days when I could drink.) It made me silly enough that I summer-saulted all the way down the hill, much to everyone’s amusement all around. (And in Frye Boots, probably!) I mailed my friend a funny “Happy St. Pat’s!” card. She called last night to say she got it, though she called my cell phone, which I had forgotten about, as usual, and didn’t discover that she called until I put the thing in my briefcase this morning. I will call her back later.

On an aside, my partner “forgot” to wear green today, so his rear “cheek” was pinched as he left for work. Ummm, that was fun!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, however you celebrate!

Yep, that’s the name of the U.S. Government agency that is responsible for federal income tax, business tax, and whatever-else-they-tax. Lately, the thing that this agency has been taxing me most on is my patience.

I have completed 49 individual federal tax returns for senior buds over the last six weeks or so. I have even filed my own and received a small but appreciated refund. I prepared all of these filings electronically using software I purchased for that purpose.

Now that all the individual returns are done, I am focusing my sights on returns that I file for not-for-profit organizations on whose Boards I serve — and who look to me to file those tax returns. I also file returns for small businesses that I own and operate with my partner.

That’s where the IRS becomes “infernal.” They have mailed me only one form for one organization, but I need five for five separate organizations. I also need forms for the small businesses. Okay, so I go to their website to download the forms. When you visit the website, you have to surf all over the place to find the forms (fortunately, their search feature worked pretty well.)

When I clicked on the forms I wanted, only one of them would work. Two produced an error message saying that the on-line version of the form was corrupted and “could not be repaired.” ummm… have you ever tried to find where to report such a problem on a huge government agency’s website? I found the on-line form, and explained the problem. I have to credit them — they responded within an hour. They sent a “stock answer” that they must have cut-and-pasted from a reference library, saying that I needed to use the most current version of Adobe Acrobat Reader. Well, I am using the latest version, and told them so. Doesn’t matter, they have done their duty by responding, regardless if it indicates that they really didn’t read what I wrote.

I then opted to call on the phone to request that the forms be mailed to me. The forms are not due for another month, so I have time.

Their phone system is one of those super-annoying “press-or-say this-for-that” type of thing, with instructions repeated in Spanish if you don’t respond quickly enough. 16 menu options later, the line went dead. Arrggghhh!

Another 16 menu options later, instead of losing the connection, I heard a short burst of tones, which I presume was a transfer to a live human being. After a pleasant music-on-hold 20-minute wait, I reached an operator and relayed my request. She was very helpful and courteous. It was the automated systems that were less so.

Oh well, such is life with big bureaucracy. I’m sure I am not the only one trying to call the IRS these days.