The Bubble
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The Bubble I am out the door for Texas this morning, leaving too early because the flights I wanted were not available. The flying weather looks good, no storms between me and the Lone Star State, and only one plane change in Chicago. It could be a valuable trip, opening some doors at the Command in San Antonio , and perhaps cultivate some decent contacts. Worth a try, anyway. I’m in town next week for a local conference, and then off to Boston the week after that, finishing the week in Traverse City, Michigan, so I can get the World’s Fastest Production Pickup truck out of storage and attend my older boy’s graduation. Then a brisk drive across the heartland, and back in town to fly out to Oakland, California, to talk to a senior official in the University of California system who deals with the National Laboratories they manage for the government. The truck will be useful, since I have to move again this summer, this time into a two-bedroom unit in Big Pink that overlooks the pool and catches the sunset. One of the Realtors in the building- we are all amateur Realtors in this bubbling market- came by to look at my efficiency. He thought I had done a pretty good job on it, and that it would probably sell for close to $200,000 dollars. I need to think about what to do with it. The places are appreciating a couple thousand an month, almost as much as oil. He thought I got a pretty good bargain on the bigger unit, too, and it is a comfort to have gotten something in this crazy time in real estate. My friend who is quitting the Defense Advanced Research and Development Projects Agency bought a little house a few blocks away when she thought she was going to stay here. She intended to put down roots, but fell in love with a fighter pilot. There is a joke about that, which I would tell, but I started my career in a fighter squadron and will just leave it alone. I still hear from some of the guys. Anyhow, she made plans to put the place on the market at $650,000 and I wistfully thought about making an offer on it. I was right not to waste my time. The contracts flew in when the place listed and the bidding began, and she wound up taking an offer of a hundred grand more. So, for owning the place for two years she probably made a profit of a quarter million dollars. Crazy. I don’t know when the bubble is going to burst, or whether it will or not. I will think about that, hoping that owning some property in Arlington is a good thing. The bigger unit is probably a bulletproof investment. Real estate never goes sour here. I had to do something, anyway. I need a bigger interest write off. My last move entitlement from the military expires in a few months, and I can get some of my furniture back from the Ex. I can sleep in a bed that I don’t have to fold up at night. I will probably doodle some numbers on the plane. I seem to be doing that a lot these days. This is more travel than I had thought I would be doing. I don’t mind, not really, though I understand the TSA is going to prohibit my carrying my plastic lighter on the airplane, and will mandate only paper matches. The theory is that if I have the disposable lighter, I may be more likely to ignite a shoe bomb, like Richard Reid, the jihadist who tried to take down an airplane a few years ago. I don’t know why paper matches are considered to be more safe, but I will leave that to the experts who put the octogenarians through the metal detectors in their wheelchairs and make US Senators drop their trousers. I don’t mid if they do it to Senator Kennedy. I don’t know if they will shake me down this morning or not. But I understand they are going to disestablish the TSA anyway. I think they have made more bad press, but I likewise hope the news won’t make the screeners surly this morning. I am taking all carry-on on this trip, so I can’t afford any miscues. The Alamo this afternoon, and maybe a dip in the pool under the Texas sun. Maybe soak in the Jacuzzi and just watch the bubbles. Vic Socotra |
