Traveling back from Iowa I'm possessed of a creative frenzy. The madness that can only come from listening to the thoughts in my own head for endless hours of driving. It's no wonder Van Gogh cut off his own ear. He was tired of hearing voices. For him, the mad whisperings of the Muse were (according to History) worth it - I can only hope that mine are even half as good, or at least not completely insipid. I'd like to get something for my therapy sessions, thank you.
So I've thought up at least 2 schemes for potentially turning a profit: number 1) a targeted condo development in Polson that takes advantage of the proximity of health services, a decent view, and a walkable distance to town center and the health food store. Number 2) going around Eastern Montana and Western South and North Dakota and ripping down old barns for the lumber (for flooring). Think of this idea as harvesting lost wood; not as lucrative as pulling submerged logs out of the Mississippi, but not yet discovered. There was a hidden third scheme - writing a book - but it has a poor chance of completion and less chance of a lucrative return on time vested. Still....
Today I look in depth at plan 1...
Get Rich Slow Plan 1 - Ravendell
Can one develop a eco-friendly, socially-just village and sell it for a decent profit? That is the challenge. Perhaps the key is going for uniqueness - after all, repurposing old, used goods is certainly low-impact and low-cost, but the "opportunity" cost is less attractive fixtures, essentials that are in-turn harder to maintain/replace in-kind. Add in the market conditions found today and a low-entry project runs the risk of having high ongoing costs while waiting for investors and buyers. So the key is going to be getting enough people sufficiently interested and vested in the project (i.e. earnest money) to mitigate the risk.
1. Come up with a saleable vision - green, focused on an under-served niche market, location, amenities
2. Differentiate the vision from the competition - HOA per person/home that focuses on serving the long-term interests of the association (first right of refusal to buy), theme (real, not marketing) of extended family, Mondragon cooperative ideals (keep it small, keep it focused on community house, let members get first shot as hired help if they wish)
3. Create an affordable plan
4. Find investors - both public and private
5. Find and buy land with investor money - for plan to work, ongoing opex expenses must be limited to taxes and permits on undeveloped land
6. Find buyers
7. Find builder
8. Build
9. Sell
10. Repeat if successful, goal is to create a repeatable business
Groups to sell to: middle-class (by price) friends, groups of women, life-transition (empty nesters). For this location we think targeting early-senior women is good.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Watched a terrible chick flick about dating - The Ugly Truth. I'm not sure what it was really trying to say - but it ended up being formulaic. The only reasonable take-away was when the heroine asks the anti-hero why he loves her. He answers, "Beats the shit out of me." Ah, finally the truth. Was that ugly?
Still, watching the movie with the leftovers from '89, those of us who continue to linger in families and around town was cool. It was a nice diversion from staying at home. I think my welcome is starting to get worn out. The parent's are looking for an empty nest and I am to return it to them, with hopefully enough improvements to render memories fonder than present circumstances might warrant.
Let's see... while I've been here we've accomplished a lot on the "honey-do" list created in 2000! Installed fans with remote controls in the bedrooms (stupid overly tight base units!), clean out the unkillable irises, built and installed the murphy bed (without watching the video, and only making 10 fatal flaws), removed a bunch of trees, picked all of the strawberries and those raspberries the wasps didn't eat, and are in the process of fixing up the long neglected vanagon in preparation for my drive around the west. The last is a true win-win; I get a great car to use post-divorce to travel. My dad gets the car fixed for a fraction of the price it would have cost him solely and years earlier. My Mom gets the satisfaction of having that hunk of junk off the lawn. Guess that is a win, win, win. Sweet!
Tomorrow, I go fishing with my childhood friend and protector, Eric C. Looking forward to staring down some inedible fish. Heck - maybe we won't even bring rods.
Still, watching the movie with the leftovers from '89, those of us who continue to linger in families and around town was cool. It was a nice diversion from staying at home. I think my welcome is starting to get worn out. The parent's are looking for an empty nest and I am to return it to them, with hopefully enough improvements to render memories fonder than present circumstances might warrant.
Let's see... while I've been here we've accomplished a lot on the "honey-do" list created in 2000! Installed fans with remote controls in the bedrooms (stupid overly tight base units!), clean out the unkillable irises, built and installed the murphy bed (without watching the video, and only making 10 fatal flaws), removed a bunch of trees, picked all of the strawberries and those raspberries the wasps didn't eat, and are in the process of fixing up the long neglected vanagon in preparation for my drive around the west. The last is a true win-win; I get a great car to use post-divorce to travel. My dad gets the car fixed for a fraction of the price it would have cost him solely and years earlier. My Mom gets the satisfaction of having that hunk of junk off the lawn. Guess that is a win, win, win. Sweet!
Tomorrow, I go fishing with my childhood friend and protector, Eric C. Looking forward to staring down some inedible fish. Heck - maybe we won't even bring rods.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
I need to figure out what I want to do with my life, short and long term. With my looming relationship change and my dogs staying with my parents, everything is on the table. I'll be a single guy driving around the country in well-worn ruts, springs, and vehicles. So while that may provide a lot of quality time for thinking, why wait :)
Like
Like
- Reading
- Talking to people
- Teaching
- Telling jokes and stories - entertaining
- Exploring/learning electronics
- Hiking, exploring
- Leading
- Playing games
- Running
- Activities requiring great physical+mental concentration (shooting, archery, dancing) not necessarily solely mental
- Creative imagining - coming up with new approaches, looking ahead
- Coaching, providing feedback
- Planning
- Mapping
- Dogs and Cats
- Organizing information
- Flexible work/life style (work arrangements, hours, VO)
- Time over money
- Confrontations
- Process limitations
- Institutional stupidity and inflexibility
- Responsibility without some kind of formal authority
- Calculations and purely technical plays
- Meetings with no set agenda
- Small talk in business settings, failing to deliver a message pertinent to the customer's needs
- Academic theory
- Spending time on minutiae
- Tactical thinking
- Fuzzy boundaries, responsibilities
- Being around negative people
- Being around controlling people (how + what)
- Being read to, or fed like a child (don't you just HATE that)
- Traveling late at night for chores
- Working late at night
Monday, August 03, 2009
Some ideas while sitting in a Pizza Hut:
It would suck to be found in a old VW van, half eaten, with a cryptic note stating "please, no tobasco" clenched in hand.
What does it say about our sense of feng shui to order lasagna in a Pizza Hut?
How does a spouse go about marrying someone years younger than they? Do they just hang around playgrounds and say, "Hmmm, that one looks almost ripe?"
There are double breasted cormorants along the Flathead River that excrete acidic poop. But it least it isn't flaming, acidic poop. Think about that.
A book about the inside of a man's head, where his memories are stored on index cards filed, maintained, and pawed through by one overwrought mouse. The adventure would take place both inside and outside his mind - his stumbling through life with odd bits of knowledge popping out since the mouse itself also has a minor form of dementia. The question: what is real; the man, or the mouse?
It would suck to be found in a old VW van, half eaten, with a cryptic note stating "please, no tobasco" clenched in hand.
What does it say about our sense of feng shui to order lasagna in a Pizza Hut?
How does a spouse go about marrying someone years younger than they? Do they just hang around playgrounds and say, "Hmmm, that one looks almost ripe?"
There are double breasted cormorants along the Flathead River that excrete acidic poop. But it least it isn't flaming, acidic poop. Think about that.
A book about the inside of a man's head, where his memories are stored on index cards filed, maintained, and pawed through by one overwrought mouse. The adventure would take place both inside and outside his mind - his stumbling through life with odd bits of knowledge popping out since the mouse itself also has a minor form of dementia. The question: what is real; the man, or the mouse?
Saturday, August 01, 2009
The 20th reunion is a fundamentally different beast than the 10th. Stripped of most pretense, memories fogging, class mates arrive with both less and more in common. We have a dimly remembered past, with most of the bad washed out over time, and a lot of great stories that have occurred in the length of time that exceeded our maximum time together.
I found talking with old friends and enemies to be quite cathartic. I liked stepping up to people I used to detest to shake hands and share a laugh. I liked who these people had become, and I liked what I had become. Uncomfortable edges worn smooth like river rocks.
Going down the River, bobbing like old men in a sauna but really young boys in perfect water, responsibilities, debts, promises forgotten under the hot son, cracking jokes (is that how you got your beautiful wife to marry you? look out for those dangerous, carnivorous cattle). We sprayed water at each other and laughed so hard my sides hurt. You couldn't tell it from the pictures, but that was one of the best days of my life.
How do we lose track of these people we spent our youth on? I suspect I never really knew them, nor what they would become. Certainly I never thought to be the person I seem to be. Reflections are more honest than the perspective I get peering out from lidded eyes. At my tenth reunion I couldn't leave fast enough. My twentieth - I helped close out the park. What lovely days.
I found talking with old friends and enemies to be quite cathartic. I liked stepping up to people I used to detest to shake hands and share a laugh. I liked who these people had become, and I liked what I had become. Uncomfortable edges worn smooth like river rocks.
Going down the River, bobbing like old men in a sauna but really young boys in perfect water, responsibilities, debts, promises forgotten under the hot son, cracking jokes (is that how you got your beautiful wife to marry you? look out for those dangerous, carnivorous cattle). We sprayed water at each other and laughed so hard my sides hurt. You couldn't tell it from the pictures, but that was one of the best days of my life.
How do we lose track of these people we spent our youth on? I suspect I never really knew them, nor what they would become. Certainly I never thought to be the person I seem to be. Reflections are more honest than the perspective I get peering out from lidded eyes. At my tenth reunion I couldn't leave fast enough. My twentieth - I helped close out the park. What lovely days.
The 20th reunion is a fundamentally different beast than the 10th. Stripped of most pretense, memories fogging, class mates arrive with both less and more in common. We have a dimly remembered past, with most of the bad washed out over time, and a lot of great stories that have occurred in the length of time that exceeded our maximum time together.
I found talking with old friends and enemies to be quite cathartic. I liked stepping up to people I used to detest to shake hands and share a laugh. I liked who these people had become, and I liked what I had become. Uncomfortable edges worn smooth like river rocks.
Going down the River, bobbing like old men in a sauna but really young boys in perfect water, responsibilities, debts, promises forgotten under the hot son, cracking jokes (is that how you got your beautiful wife to marry you? look out for those dangerous, carnivorous cattle). We sprayed water at each other and laughed so hard my sides hurt. You couldn't tell it from the pictures, but that was one of the best days of my life.
How do we lose track of these people we spent our youth on? I suspect I never really knew them, nor what they would become. Certainly I never thought to be the person I seem to be. Reflections are more honest than the perspective I get peering out from lidded eyes. At my tenth reunion I couldn't leave fast enough. My twentieth - I helped close out the park. What lovely days.
I found talking with old friends and enemies to be quite cathartic. I liked stepping up to people I used to detest to shake hands and share a laugh. I liked who these people had become, and I liked what I had become. Uncomfortable edges worn smooth like river rocks.
Going down the River, bobbing like old men in a sauna but really young boys in perfect water, responsibilities, debts, promises forgotten under the hot son, cracking jokes (is that how you got your beautiful wife to marry you? look out for those dangerous, carnivorous cattle). We sprayed water at each other and laughed so hard my sides hurt. You couldn't tell it from the pictures, but that was one of the best days of my life.
How do we lose track of these people we spent our youth on? I suspect I never really knew them, nor what they would become. Certainly I never thought to be the person I seem to be. Reflections are more honest than the perspective I get peering out from lidded eyes. At my tenth reunion I couldn't leave fast enough. My twentieth - I helped close out the park. What lovely days.
Thinking about starting over again. Where? When? How?
I keep trying for the brass ring and instead get stuck on the merry go round. This time I'm trying something a bit different. A bit, shall we say, risque.
I will be attempting to escape the confines of a mortgage, a cubicle wall, even constancy in place and community in exchange for a virtual world that travels with me in my 1981 Vanagon Westfalia camper. I am throwing out the of world of false permanence (a fixed place in space and time, or - to be mundane - walls and a rent check) in exchange for one without wires. And while I'll be living from a van, I'll also be working from the van and exploring not only the real world* but the online world of the virtual office. Essentially, I'm going to be a corporate nomad in a moving covered wagon heading for all points West of the Mississippi. I'm pushing the envelope of acceptable corporate practice, baby, all while existing in a big, bright blue non-aerodynamic relic.
Of course, recognition must go to my pioneering friend Dave Thorsrud. Unlike that brave soul he, I will keep working for "The Man" who will remain anonymous lest his hordes of troll-like HR minions roll down on me like ugly on Noriega. After all, just because I'm trying to avoid the world doesn't mean the world will avoid me. There be bills to pay up to that mo-fo - mortgages that stick, suck, and laze like Alaskan mosquitoes.
And the toys one can try and put into a VW these days. Those hippies really did have it cheap - there was few choices in what to jam into approximately 20 square feet of space.** Now, you can turn one into a swiss-army knife made of titanium and ready for a hot night of derring-do or sweet, sweet loving.
But to make this lifestyle "work" for me I have to document my trials (many) and tribulations (few? fewer?). And to do that I need to find the Internet. You might think this is a hard thing to miss, but that big, old collection of pipes seems to follow Interstates and satellites which are better aligned for taking pictures of troops in white boxer shorts that say, "I heart NY", than provide me with web-mana. Nope, cargo culting these days involves paddling the freaking raft until I crash upon a reef of wi-fi loving. And for this task, there is no better website than that found here for the (next) nearest hotspot.
Before you get all bored, and "let's just flip to the juicy bits" that HAVE NOT HAPPENED YET, PEOPLE, I'm including some links to pages containing yet more links that I find interesting, hilarious, and inspiring.
And I'll see you on the open road, at that wi-fi cafe (look for the bald man surrounded by 5 empty venti cups and electronic gear), or on the Internet.
Links
Books
* Coeur d'Alene, Spokane, Seattle, Bend, Corvallis, Portland, Ashland, Shasta, Fairfax, San Francisco, Monterey, White Mountains, Deep Springs, Joshua Tree, Death Valley, Tucson, Santa Fe, and every freaking National Park in UT
** By the way, don't quote me on that square footage. I was listening to my gut and it sounded sure. I listen to it when I'm not paying attention to Stephen Colbert.
I keep trying for the brass ring and instead get stuck on the merry go round. This time I'm trying something a bit different. A bit, shall we say, risque.
I will be attempting to escape the confines of a mortgage, a cubicle wall, even constancy in place and community in exchange for a virtual world that travels with me in my 1981 Vanagon Westfalia camper. I am throwing out the of world of false permanence (a fixed place in space and time, or - to be mundane - walls and a rent check) in exchange for one without wires. And while I'll be living from a van, I'll also be working from the van and exploring not only the real world* but the online world of the virtual office. Essentially, I'm going to be a corporate nomad in a moving covered wagon heading for all points West of the Mississippi. I'm pushing the envelope of acceptable corporate practice, baby, all while existing in a big, bright blue non-aerodynamic relic.
Of course, recognition must go to my pioneering friend Dave Thorsrud. Unlike that brave soul he, I will keep working for "The Man" who will remain anonymous lest his hordes of troll-like HR minions roll down on me like ugly on Noriega. After all, just because I'm trying to avoid the world doesn't mean the world will avoid me. There be bills to pay up to that mo-fo - mortgages that stick, suck, and laze like Alaskan mosquitoes.
And the toys one can try and put into a VW these days. Those hippies really did have it cheap - there was few choices in what to jam into approximately 20 square feet of space.** Now, you can turn one into a swiss-army knife made of titanium and ready for a hot night of derring-do or sweet, sweet loving.
But to make this lifestyle "work" for me I have to document my trials (many) and tribulations (few? fewer?). And to do that I need to find the Internet. You might think this is a hard thing to miss, but that big, old collection of pipes seems to follow Interstates and satellites which are better aligned for taking pictures of troops in white boxer shorts that say, "I heart NY", than provide me with web-mana. Nope, cargo culting these days involves paddling the freaking raft until I crash upon a reef of wi-fi loving. And for this task, there is no better website than that found here for the (next) nearest hotspot.
Before you get all bored, and "let's just flip to the juicy bits" that HAVE NOT HAPPENED YET, PEOPLE, I'm including some links to pages containing yet more links that I find interesting, hilarious, and inspiring.
And I'll see you on the open road, at that wi-fi cafe (look for the bald man surrounded by 5 empty venti cups and electronic gear), or on the Internet.
Links
Books
* Coeur d'Alene, Spokane, Seattle, Bend, Corvallis, Portland, Ashland, Shasta, Fairfax, San Francisco, Monterey, White Mountains, Deep Springs, Joshua Tree, Death Valley, Tucson, Santa Fe, and every freaking National Park in UT
** By the way, don't quote me on that square footage. I was listening to my gut and it sounded sure. I listen to it when I'm not paying attention to Stephen Colbert.
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