Back in March of 2011, we encouraged readers to become more aware of the shift real estate agents are making to be more wired, tech-savvy and mobile. You’re active in social media and you have a web site, but how are prospects going to be viewing it when most of them are accessing your site through tablets and handhelds, and how can they reach you instantly?

Read the rest here.

The origins of this performance are not clear, but it must be a TV broadcast from the mid- to late-2000s when she grew her hair out briefly before being mistaken for Enya and shaving it off again. She’s a little sheepish here, but on the brink of going nuts at any moment. And I say that with the utmost respect.

And her band is in it to win it.

Old Man: You, boy!

Young Lad: Yes, Guv’nah?

Old Man: Do you know that goose in the window of McBobble’s shop?

Young Lad: Ya mean the one as big as me, sah?

Old Man: The exact one, indeed. I want you to without let or hindrance purchase it and take it to the home of Mr. Bob Cratchit. And make haste, my boy!

[The Old Man pulls out a coin purse from his waistcoat and extracts several coins.]

Old Man: This should cover the goose, and here, with my compliments of the season…

[He removes another coin and places it firmly in the fingerless-gloved hand of the Young Lad, smiling with warm and agreeable affectation.]

Old Man: Keep this half a crown for yourself.

Young Lad: Affaclown, sah!

Old Man: Yes, indeed. Half a crown. Be off with you, lad!

Young Lad: Blymie!

[The Young Lad examines the coin.]

Young Lad: Aff… uh… clown, sir. A good bit o’ cash, this?

Old Man: By Jove it is! Half a crown is a considerable sum. Now be on your tidy way, wee one.

Young Lad: Rightaway, your lordship!

[He turns, ogling the coin, but stops.]

Young Lad: With this coin I shall be able to acquire me-self something special this season, sah.

Old Man: You absolutely shall.

Young Lad: Like, if ya don’t mind me askin’, your worship sir, what can one purchase, you know, with affaclown you reckon?

Old Man: Well, I — it’s a — I mean, I would assume you could, I don’t know, buy a house in the Cotswolds or a herd of sheep with it. It’s quite a bit of money, my dear lad, so off with you to McBotchitt’s Goose Emporium forthwith!

Young Lad: A house in the Cotswolds? With this little coin?

Old Man: Well, perhaps I exaggerate slightly. Let’s allow that you could procure yourself a hot meal this blistery evening and a mug or two of beer, perhaps.

Young Lad: I’m twelve.

Old Man: Hot cocoa, then. Look, you can probably get a nice shirt or some new gloves. Some muslin.

Young Lad: One more question, yer ‘onnah. Just trying to get a sense, see. I’m wonderin’, now, would I get any change back after purchasing said gloves, sah? Usin’ this here coin?

Old Man: Most certainly!

Young Lad: What kind of change would I get back from this coin? A bunch of smaller little coins?

Old Man: [Digs in his coin purse] I actually don’t know for sure, let me look and see if there are different sizes — [suddenly] Now look, laddie, if you don’t hot-step it to McDiddleton’s Mesquite BBQ Hut, I shall employ the services of another street boy.

Young Lad: [Losing the cockney accent slightly] So you’re telling me that I can walk into a public house, sit at the counter, order bangers and new potatoes and green beans covered with gravy and a steak and kidney pie alongside a hot mug of cider and when the bill comes around with a straight face I can hand the barman this little coin?

Old Man: Well, I am certain …. Do you normally eat that much at dinnertime? …. The answer I would say is yes. Possibly with some change.

Young Lad: Whole thing sounds a little fishy.

Old Man: Enough! If you don’t scurry down this meandering thoroughfare this instant and purchase the large goose in the window of McGillicutty’s Hooka House of Hash I will procure another toe-headed tyke to perform these services in your stead.

Young Lad: Okay, fine.

[The Young Lad returns the coins to the old man and stands aside to watch.]

Old Man: [Calls out to a passerby] You, boy!

Crotchety Old Woman: I’m not a boy.

Old Man: My deepest apologies, milady.

Crotchety Old Woman: What do you want?

Old Man: Nothing, madam. Simply to offer you the compliments of the season.

Young Lad: He’s looking for someone to run eight blocks to buy an enormous goose then haul it all the way to Bob Cratchit’s place for half a crown.

Crotchety Old Woman: Half a crown?

Old Man: Please, milady, pay no heed to this uncouth street yob. I wish you the merriest of seasons and please to carry on.

[He tips his hat and begins to look around for another boy.]

Crotchety Old Woman: Half a crown won’t buy you jack squat.

Young Lad: That’s what I said.

Old Man: You can both go take a flying leap.

THE END

But, the larger issue here is why his songwriting abilities have declined. How is it that the writer of two dozen mod hit-single mainstays (Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy), two influential rock operas (Tommy, Quadrophenia), an incredible classic rock album (Who’s Next) and the fabled Lifehouse project (which includes Who Are You, Relay, Let’s See Action) finds himself unable to express himself at the age of 66? In the radio documentary, he says:

Today I just wish that when I walk down to my studio I could sit at my piano and be able to organize my thoughts, pull out one of the sheets of lyrics I have got in front of me, finish the song, record it and put it out on an album. But it’s not how life is today. I don’t know why. When I stray into familiar territory I feel uneasy. I feel I am not breaking new ground. And that’s bad. I am expected to break new ground.

Based on this quote alone, we could argue that he’s not writing because he’s afraid of breaking new ground. But this man is an opinionated, courageous, headstrong musician who has labored over countless groundbreaking demos in his studio. It must be something else:

There is a fabulous book somewhere, or at least there should be, about great works of art that were created under the influence of mind-altering substances. The earliest example I can think of is Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Kubla Kahn. According to the poet, he sat down to write one evening, took some opium for his back problems, passed out and awoke several hours later having written this poem. Here’s a fragment:

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.

The question we have to ask now is, Did he really write it?

If you listen to old Neil Young songs, or specifically “Don’t Let It Bring You Down,” there’s a feeling that this music and these words are coming from someplace else. Someplace… beyond regular everyday sensibilities.

Blind man running through the light of the night
With an answer in his hand,
Come on down to the river of sight
And you can really understand,
Red lights flashing through the window in the rain,
Can you hear the sirens moan?
White cane lying in a gutter in the lane,
If you’re walking home alone.

Don’t let it bring you down
It’s only castles burning,
Just find someone who’s turning
And you will come around.

Is there a reason why Neil Young–in spite of the countless incredible songs he once wrote and continues to write–never wrote anything to compare with that stunning song? The reason could be drugs.

I’m not saying that Neil Young, Paul McCartney, Joni Mitchell, Pete Townshend, John Lennon, Elton John, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards and so on wrote great songs simply because they were high. But the question is out there.

If you go back a little ways… as far back as Mozart, let’s say. Or even as far back as Bach or even Purcell. You find that these composers progressed as they aged, in the sense that their greatest, most complicated and endearing works were among the last they composed. Like, right before they died. Wagner, Puccini, Verdi, Mahler, Schubert–all of these artists wrote music until they died and almost unanimously wrote at a very high level of endurance.

And, to the best of my knowledge, none of them needed any kind of assistance. However, that could be taking too narrow of a view. Bach, for example, was inspired by God, and his spirituality inspired and informed nearly everything he wrote. Wagner’s monumental ego fueled his fire and Puccini wanted to be wealthy.

But, anyone who has sat down to create something knows that fame, money, recognition–whatever the byproduct of artistic success–are not true sources of inspiration. So, why is it that Paul McCartney, later in life, is unable to write new music that captures the collective conscience in the same way he did in the 60′s and early 70′s? Maybe it’s not the rock songwriter’s fault at all. Townshend says above, “I am expected to break new ground.” Who expects him to break new ground?

Maybe it’s us, the audience, who inspire these songwriters, and once our attention shifts they lose their ability to create what we were demanding in the first place.

Here’s the book description:

Recent World War II veteran Bull Ingram is working as muscle when a Memphis DJ hires him to find Ramblin’ John Hastur. The mysterious blues man’s dark, driving music – broadcast at ever-shifting frequencies by a phantom radio station – is said to make living men insane and dead men rise. Disturbed and enraged by the bootleg recording the DJ plays for him, Ingram follows Hastur’s trail into the strange, uncivilized backwoods of Arkansas, where he hears rumors the musician has sold his soul to the Devil. But as Ingram closes in on Hastur and those who have crossed his path, he’ll learn there are forces much more malevolent than the Devil and reckonings more painful than Hell… In a masterful debut of Lovecraftian horror and Southern gothic menace, John Hornor Jacobs reveals the fragility of free will, the dangerous power of sacrifice, and the insidious strength of blood.

Mr. Jacobs has a deal for several more books, so better hop on board before the train has left the station.

Image Credit: Night Shade Books

Location Education: Help Clients Find Great Schools

Agents Need to Pitch More Than Their Listings

Find an Agent: The Sway (or Nay) of Online Testimonials

Read the full post here.

Read the full post at Sundayed.

Phone Surveyor:

Me: Um, zero.

Phone Surveyor: Okay. Second question, “What are the top three products you usually purchase at Shoppers Food Warehouse?”

Me: I’ve never been to Shoppers Food Warehouse.

Phone Surveyor: Right. You said that already. The next question here is, now, this looks like multiple choice. Is that okay?

Me: Sure

Phone Surveyor: “When you visit Shoppers Food Warehouse, what are the factors? (a) Price, (b) Location, (c) Customer Service, (d) Our Award-Winning Organics Section.”

Me: I have never been to a Shoppers Food Warehouse.

Phone Surveyor: Are you serious?

Me: Yes.

Phone Surveyor: I don’t understand.

Me: I don’t think there’s a Shoppers Food Warehouse anywhere around here.

Phone Surveyor: But, you’re on the service area call list.

Me: I don’t know what to tell you.

Phone Surveyor: Okay, see, the problem is I don’t get paid unless these surveys are completed. So…

Me: I’m not sure how I can help you then.

Phone Surveyor: Could we just complete the survey?

Me: As long as it’s okay that my answers are all “no” and “never.”

Phone Survey: That is actually not okay. The survey will be incomplete, and I won’t get paid. And you, of course, won’t get your $50 Shoppers Food Warehouse voucher.

Me: I don’t shop at Shoppers Food Warehouse

Phone Surveyor: I heard you already!

Silence

Phone Survey: I’m sorry

Me: That’s okay. I think I might have to hop off the phone now.

Phone Surveyor: Wait. I have an idea. Could you lie? Just to complete the survey?

Me: You mean like, say I shop at Shoppers Food Warehouse and stuff?

Phone Surveyor: Yeah. No one will know.

Me: I won’t wind up on some junk mail list?

Phone Surveyor: No. Ready for the next question?

Me: I guess.

Phone: “When it comes to grocery bonus rewards programs, how alluring is Shoppers Food Warehouse’s ‘Double Coupons Every Day Limit Four Identical Coupons Per Person’ feature? (a) Very, (b) Somewhat, (c) Slightly, (d) Not at all.”

Me: How alluring is it?

Phone Surveyor: Yes. Just answer the question. “Very, Somewhat, Slightly or Not at all?”

Me: Somewhat?

Phone Surveyor: How about “Very?”

Me: Okay, Very.

Phone Surveyor: Thank you. Next question…