Flip This Garage

An earthquake measuring 5.2 on the Richter Scale (the 'It' source when it comes to earthquakes from what everybody says) hit downstate Illinois last Monday with an ensuing aftershock that actually shook the house I live in, 200 miles north in Chicago (not pictured, thank you). This was exactly three days after a 125 pound wild cougar was shot in a nearby neighborhood alley by Chicago police and one fateful day before 20 separate people in 20 separate incidents were shot in a single weekend with handguns on the city's South side. Correction: a few were actually gunned down with an AK-47 which, from what I understand, is more of an assault rifle than a handgun. But what do I know? I only own a baseball bat and a big dog.

The City of Chicago owes me $4300 for an overpaid Property Tax Refund and is making me wait 60 days for the "checks to clear" although the semi-annual bill was paid (TWICE) via electronic transfer and deposited into the city coffers instantly. I have receipts with timestamps. I have bank statements.

The Voice in the County Assessors office speaks after finally locating my file:

"Receipts and bank statements don't make a difference Mr. Genoa Petrol, (the way Spellcheck corrects my name according to Kris Berg and others) ...Everybody waits 60 days. Try back in a few more weeks."

"You're kidding me, right?" I say to The Voice on the phone. "You guys didn't wait 60 seconds to post the deposit. Twice."

"This is the City of Chicago, Mr. Petrol.... Why would I be kidding?" The Voice has the last word.

My Mini Cooper hit a pothole the other morning on Elston Avenue that cracked my head on the glass sunroof and almost shoved the engine up into my lap. I called the City of Chicago Streets and Sanitation number to report the crater. I was put on hold for 10 minutes before getting transferred to The Voice. I hung up.

I'm currently involved in a deal where the buy-side attorney thinks he's prosecuting the Monkey Trial. His paralegal (the real attorney is too busy lawyerin' to take my calls) tells me that 'Realtors' involved in the deal are not the clients of the attorney and thus, are not privy to to all the super secret, very classified, inside information concerning a single Xerox copy of a Water Certification document that I need for my files. Her advice to me was to call the City of Chicago. Which I did...

I called them and told them that I believe the Richter Scale earthquake damaged a structure on my street and could they please send someone out to take a look (see above picture). Now I'm fairly new to the community but neighbors tell me that the delapidated building, (a garage actually) has been in that same lean-to condition for at least 15 years. A mean dog chased me away before I made it to the alley for a sharper angle snapshot (with much more daylight coming through the roof). It was either a dog or a cougar, I'm not certain.

While on the phone I also asked how the cop who shot the other cougar was faring emotionally, inquired about the pothole/sinkhole on Elston and whether or not a baseball bat needed to be registered as a weapon (see The Untouchables). I mentioned that I did have a valid license for my dog, however. I asked if they could check how the Water Cert documentation was coming along for my Supreme Court case studio apartment deal, and also inquired about a certain missing, lost in cyberspace, $4300 Property Tax Refund with my name on it. I got transferred a half dozen times until finally...

The Voice, "Mr. Genoa Petrol...is that you?"

I hung up.

Geno Petro

Gray skies and cheap shoes...

First thing, the sky is very gray--the weatherman says it may thunderstorm tonight. Secondly, the red and yellow advertisement on the bus stop bench at Clybourn and Ashland avenues indicates shoes can be had for $9.99. Lastly, Premium gas is $4.09 per gallon--and rising. I'm not even going to mention what else they are reporting on NPR this morning but I'll give you a hint; marshmallows and fairy dust are not in the week's forecast and traffic is, as always, unbearable.

We should have seen this coming. I took the above snapshot only as an ex post facto exercise; simple documentation of an end result of existing fiscal uncertainty in our marketplace. To the untrained urban eye, the image is nothing but a typical north side Chicago intersection on a typical weekday morning. But for those of us in the know-- in other words, those of us who stayed awake during high school Economics class back in 1975--the picture validates what disheveled Mr. Finkle (Sprinkle Dinkle Wrinkle Finkle) in his short sleeve shirt and too-short soup stained necktie tried to warn us about; that according to the pre-printed Lorenze Curve on the back of his laminated pen protector, milk and gasoline would be $5.00 a gallon by the next millennium- a mere 25 years down the road at the time. A loaf of bread, too. Houses would become unaffordable to all but the very wealthy and pollution would kill all the birds and trees. China would rule the world, said he.

Personally, I couldn't care less at the time about any of that. I vaguely recall raising my hand and asking if the pen protector protected the shirt from the pens or the pens from the shirt. After all, five bucks filled up my VW in those days and bought a pack of smokes to boot. High finance meant burning one in the parking lot before class. Still, somehow, the concept stuck in my memory bank along with Meritime Influence, Supply and Demand, and how to recite that ridiculous Middle English Canterbury Tale, "...The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.." thing. Public school education, to be sure.

You see, I knew the price of gasoline would someday hover around where it is today. Mr Finkle told us as much back in the 1970s. And milk? We drank the powdered version at home when I was growing up so the liquid, or anything that resembles it, never touches my lips to this day. I know Lake Michigan will stay cold until July and warm until October (relatively speaking) and what goes up doesn't necesarily come back down. The birds and the trees are on their own--hopefully God will step in on that issue.

Chicago is gray 6 months a year and traffic is always unbearable, this we all know. I am even wrapping my mind (and business plan as a Realtor) around the whole unaffordable housing concept although foreclosures in my particular market have only increased a little above the norm and condo sales, if not brisk, are certainly occurring at a predictable pace. What I wasn't prepared for, and what caught my attention to begin with, is shoes for $9.99. Now that, in my estimation, is something to worry about. That, and possibly China.

Geno Petro

Funny how?

imagery by a.j. pinto

idea by ben osbun

inspired by dennis hopper

edited for content by mona petro

edited for language by american express

directed by joe pinto

featuring geno petro

Having a great group of office mates to work with (and pull my leg)...priceless. Oh wait, that's the other company. What's in your wallet? No...that's not them either. Anyway, I don't leave home without it. And that's the Word on this Chicago street.

Peace,

G.

"We'd like to thank The Academy..."

I feel thrice blessed as I enter the second quarter of the business year on this, the first day of April, 2008. No kidding, punchlines, or April fooling around. The sensation I am enjoying this day is one of good old simple gratitude.

For starters, Denver Colorado's Todd Carpenter featured me this past Monday on his Blog Fiesta! Blogger Spotlight series. That was certainly an unexpected honor; to be interviewed by another blogger whose work I admire. I now stand alongside some very good company in his sidebar.

Later that same day, a deal I wrote about just before Easter weekend that was going sideways in quick fashion, regained its cosmic balance and came together like 'peas and carrots' on settlement day. It was raining all kinds of farm animals outside the title company and the wired funds from the Fed were lost in cyberspace for the better part of an entire day but the transaction limped across the finish line and Closed by 6 PM. Everyone left the building on speaking terms and all mixed metaphors aside; checks, keys, and well wishes were exchanged and all animosities, put to bed for good, by sunset.

And finally, this morning I arose to find that indeed, the Sun does also rise and that the latest Bloodhound Blog Odysseus Medal was awarded....Alas! The trifecta! Greg Swann awarded it to me! And just to add a touch of dramatic irony, the piece was entitled, Geno's Wrong (bang a gong).

And ....as if sheer momentum, good fortune and mere praise by my peers is not enough, I am simultaneously typing these words and preparing an Offer for a client referral on a Wrigleyville condominium scheduled to close about the time the Diamondbacks hit town in mid-May to get charmed by the Cubbies. This way I can bring bragging rights down to the Unchained Conference with me the following week, along with a little spending money for the missus.


So dear universe and all the members of the cosmic academy, I thank you.... The real estate gods like me...they really, really like me...for now.


Geno Petro

photo by Mike Kardis

My Man Jake

I work in a business where a lot of people go on record claiming to be the best at what they do. Of course, the opinion is purely subjective. We are our own biggest fans, us Roosters...I mean, Realtors.

The truth is, and I've mentioned this many times before, the hero is the Agent with the Listing at that serendipitous moment a bona fide Buyer walks through the door. In my Real Estate career in Chicago I've been simultaneously 'Hailed the Chief,' and stripped of my rank; promoted to the corner lot office, and given my walking papers. Currently, I'm the 5th (FIFTH!) Listing Agent on a 14 unit project with 6 units left to sale. Recently, I lost a Listing after 180 of the most brutal Market Time in recent housing history. It's all about timing, dear readers.

I believe there are many Realtors in Chicago who work everyday and always put the best interest of their clients first. All things equal, I believe I am one of those Realtors, and in fact, even at the head of the coop. But then again, nobody thinks more about me...than me.

And as far as my buddy on the photographed window sign above ^ is concerned, all I have to say is, "That's a bold statement, Jake. How do the chickens feel about that?"


Geno Petro

A Sign From God?

Personally, I would have thought for an incumbent, He'd have a slicker marketing plan and a little nicer digs. In fact, His headquarters building, shown here at Elston and Kimball on Chicago's Northwest side, looks a little shopworn to me but hey, who am I to judge? I admittedly haven't read Revelations so I'm not too sure of the 'Economic Stimulus Package He had in mind for this particular generation of Americans. I'm pretty certain though, Sacrifice must be stuck in there somewhere.

Perhaps it was attached as a congressional rider. Think about it; it makes a very good case for line item veto privilages for those in the highest office. But again, it's only me at the keyboard and as I've inferred early and often, Theology wasn't my strongest subject.

Anyway, since I've been known to give almost anything a shot, I pulled into the gravel parking lot on my way home, turned down NPR on the radio, and said a heathen's equivalent of a novena for world peace, the health of our own Nation in particular, and a couple of my Listings approaching the 180 day market time benchmark...for my Sellers' collective sakes, of course. (I'm already blessed in a lot of ways so no need going to that wishing well one time too many, if you know what I'm saying. I'm saving up those tokens for a free pass out of a real foxhole situation.)

Geno Petro

Romancing the Deal

I'm in the middle of a deal right now that is a little reminiscent of a plot line from Romancing the Stone---peril lurks around every corner and a single false step will insure either one of those big rocks rolling my way in a catacomb, or me getting yelled at by someone, for sure. At the very least, there's a feeling of impending doom and I'm being portrayed as ill intentioned Ralph, the Danny Devito character who's only in it for the money. "You know, I bet you can buy a great townhouse down here...for around five or six dollars," says poor Ralph in mock sincerity as his Sufi Arab captors drag him across the desert floor and into the darkness...

Actually the deal I'm referring to is already negotiated, out of Attorney Review and clear to Close--sort of. The 'deal' itself is cool...for the most part--only the final appraisal lingers in the wings. The actual condominium that is attached to the deal is what has a Curse on it. You see, it's New Construction. It has the notorious New Construction Curse wherein everything surrounding the transaction begins on a flat note back at Day One, continues off key, pitchy and not quite in tune through all the syncopated stages of completion, until the last and final hour when the heaviest lady at Chicago Title sings Goodnight Irene at the settlement table and everyone is free to pile into the elevator and exit the building in silence, all feeling that they somehow got gypped out of the real treasure along the way.

Even good news seems like bad news when the New Construction Curse has been cast:

Agent: "Good news, folks. The cabinets have arrived. "

Buyers: "Where were they?"

Agent: "I don't know. On the truck? Stuck at the Canadian border? Held up in Customs?" Doesn't matter. They're here now."

Buyers: "Ten years later."

Agent: "Weeks. Ten weeks later"

Buyers: "Seems like years. What color were they again? I think we might want to go with a differrent finish. How hard is that to change?"

Ralph stands at the very edge of the 900 foot craggy cliff contemplating the pros and cons of taking just one more baby step....

At this point he is only in it for the money, it would seem. And while most two-party deals move along as smooth as silk and without high adventure; like carrots and peas or Forrest and Jenny, such is not the case with those deals which are Cursed. It usually starts out with a simple email exchange:

Dear Ralph,

I found your website on Google. May be relocating to Chicago. Please enroll me in your Dream Locator. I want the world and I want it cheap.

Jack T. Colton, Mercenary at Large


**************

Dear Jack,

Not a prob. The world's sucking major wind these days. It's a world buyer's market. Come on down.

Ralph

**************

Ralph,

Roger that. I'll be in town on Saturday. Rock on.

Jack

**************


Then the househunting trip is scheduled, conducted and consumated. Fifteen condominiums are visited in a single weekend and a decision is made within 48 hours:

"I'll take the one by the lake that is almost ready. Tell them to upgrade the cabinets, beef up the lighting allowance and be ready to close in 60 days. I want the preferred parking space, steam showers in all bathrooms and California Closets throughout the unit. Heat the floors, paint it all blue, and pay half my Closing Costs at settlement. Tell them if they do all that, we got a deal..."



I do as I'm instructed and get them to agree. What else can they do? It's a world buyer's market and there's no shortage of world right now, not in Chicago anyway. They always agree to what they can't deliver. That's what 'they' do best. And 'they' know who I'm talking about, too.

It's my belief that such a 'Curse' often begins during the negotiation with unreasonable expectations. Not always, but often. Anyway, here's how the afore-mentioned scenario has played out for me and my client up until this point in time:

January 25-26: Viewed 15 different properties; some resale, some new, some proposed.

January 27: Submitted an offer on a Model unit in a New Construction project in near move-in condition.

January 28: Negotiated details with the Listing Agent and Builder and reached a verbal agreement with only minor changes.

January 29: Another higher offer comes in and is accepted and signed by the Builder. We get bumped out of the Model deal but are offered a 'yet to be built out' unit on the same terms, one floor above.

January 30: We accept the deal on the the condition of a 60 day completion and a close of escrow on April 1st. They agree.

January 31-March 6: My iPhone barely rings. Nothing significant transpires except: Cabinets are delayed. Original lighting is no longer in stock. The wrong color granite is ordered. Paint color is three shades off. Closets are on back order.

March 7: Chicago City Council votes overwhelmingly to increase the Property Tax Stamp on home sales by 40% and passes it on the the Buyer effective April 1st.

March 8: We ask to move up the Closing date one day to March 31st but the Builder is reluctant to do so.

March 9-16: New selections are chosen and things move along at a snail's pace.

March 17: City Council reverses its decision and votes overwhelmingly to pass the 40% Tax Stamp hike onto the Seller instead, effective April 1st.

March 20: The Builder immediately agrees to complete and close by March 31st and all hell suddenly breaks loose. My iPhone rings and pings every few hours, 24/7 for the next 3 days; Builder, Lisiting Agent, Appraiser, Cabinet Guy, Loan Officer, Underwriter, Appraiser, Listing Agent, Buyer, Appraiser, Listing Agent....did I mention the Appraiser?

March 21: Here I sit, frustrated and contemplating walking the earth like Caine in Kung Fu except no Shaolin Monk, am I. In fact, staying in any place with less than a 3 star rating is a little distasteful to me not to mention my martial arts are a little rusty to be hitting the road barefoot, at age 51. The iPhone is ringing and pinging even as we speak. I pause and listen to the voice mails and then read the multiple texts email messages. I have no more answers for this day. I fly out of town at 5:30AM tomorrow morning for a weekend with family and loved ones. What can I say? It's not my only deal. There are also a half dozen other Listings with my name attached that need an equal amount of attention. And again as many Buyers in the car as well. Everybody has questions. I scramble for the correct answers. I let the Sufis have their way with me...

The Curse will be there when I return; of this I'm certain. I also imagine most of my Listings aren't going anywhere between now and Monday either. And just as sure as Michael Douglas, aka Jack T. Colton, gets Kathleen Turner in the final scene and poor, pithy Ralph gets his just desserts in the desert, we will all live to star in another sequel and grapple with another 'Curse' or two before it's lights out for everybody.....Jewel of the Nile, or otherwise. And not to mix movie metaphors but 'That's all I have to say about that..."



Geno Petro

The Promo Sapien

The Promo Sapien is a direct descendant of the more popular and easily recognizable species known as the Homo Sapien--latin meaning: "wise or knowing man {or woman}." The PS, while similar in many ways to the HS, is generally a more smiley yet slightly condescending sort of creature who, in recent years, migrated en masse to the real estate business and enjoyed fleeting success until Global Warming and Web 2.0 set in and all the remaining unlicensed regular Sapiens learned how to find properties on their own on Zillow. They usually can be spotted these days in Starbucks with Blackberry in hand and Bluetooth in ear somewhere between the moms and the toddlers. At least, that's where you can usually find me.

This social glacier calving, as it were, spawned yet another subspecies, the Self-Promo Sapien--Chicago meaning: "any Realtor who constantly professes his or her superiority over any other qualified but less self-promoting PS as well as all HSes in general--and can be found on most any page of Chicago Agent Magazine (or any other industry ledger that will publish a 'Feature Article' if enough accompanying ad space is purchased), sic." And again, that's where you might one day find me as well, if someone can ever convince me it's worth the advertising ruble.

But for now I think not. The truth is, if no one else is offering up the accolades, I don't feel the need to make that superlative declaration myself. Now I will publish all compliments and 'attaboys' in my sidebar on the right; verbatim, referenced of course, and unsolicited all-- but I am not inclined to utter the words of praise myself, to be set apart from and above, all other PSes and SPSes with a Blackberry and an earpiece. Besides, the best Realtors in this town have already switched over to iPhone...


Geno Petro

My Newest Project OPEN SUNDAYS 1-4

3601-09 W. Le Moyne in Chicago



Click Here For Website



Offered by Geno Petro

Taxes Schmaxes (Active Rain re-post)

(This essay originally got 'buried' at Active Rain back in January so hopefully, Google has bigger kids than me to kick duplicate copy sand on before the next page ranking comes out. I used to be featured on AR quite often but now that there are over 70,000 members and HouseValues is involved, an infrequent blogger like myself just gets lost in the multitude of hourly posts. Hey, if I'm going to write for thin, cold air then it might as well be here in sweet cold Chicago.

I'd rather be ignored locally than nationally any time and the truth is, business has so increased that writing at all is a time allotted struggle--thus the recent rash of picture posts and no Sis, I haven't taken up Scrapbooking as a hobby.They're good for a 1,000 words each, I'm told. Also, I've embeded a new video toward the bottom of my sidebar. Of course, it has to do with me and my world. Me, me, me, as I like to say...)
I was half-listening to a lady being interviewed on NPR a few weeks back as I drove in a gazy daze out of the city and toward the general direction of Canada. I was running late for an appointment with my tax Wizard, a fourth generation accountant who fled from the tangle of the city 10 years ago to kick back On Golden Pond and perform his magic in a more bucolic setting. His father was an accountant, his grandfather was an accountant and every first born male for the last 500 years in his family were accountants--all pencil and paper sort of fellows from what I gathered.

My guy however, has flat screen plasmas throughout his office suite with a different financial news channel on each, and the latest in electronic everything to get his fiscal point across to the rest of the universe. He also has an IQ that hovers around the batting average of a Major League 2nd baseman. He barely had time for my call...

"Taxes, schmaxes," was his response to my initial phone inquiry two months earlier. That, and something about $200 an hour. I thought he was kidding. The mutual business acquaintance who ultimately hooked us up would soon after assure me otherwise.

"He's pricey and a little odd but he's a genius. A tax genius. A wizard, really..." she told me.

"Yeah, but $200 an hour? I don't pay my shrink but half of that," said I, lying about the shrink part.

"Your shrink sounds about as good as your last accountant." Which was true. I was my last accountant.

The lady on the radio, a spry sounding 65 year old, was talking about being 'in oneness with the all,' or maybe it was ‘one with the allness,' I'm still not certain. I immediately shot over to the shoulder of the interstate to enter the lofty, if not misquoted, phrase into the Note section of my new iPhone for later review. This is my biggest gripe with my car radio; no digital replay-no RiVo, as it were.

Normally, I would have just continued along with the 70 mph flow, eyes darting up and over, to and fro, steering with my knees in and out of the morning suburban egression and typing the qwerty with my thumbs, but I have yet to master the nuances of my newest tax-deductible gadget with its slick, electromagnetic glass face and all those colorful, vascillating screens; shrinking, expanding and spinning sideways with even the slightest tilt of the wrist. Ah, iPhone..mere marconian radio is but a relic in comparason.

The truth is, I haven't had an original conveyable thought in weeks so I risked the morning rush triple lane change maneuver and found a semi-safe idling spot alongside the poor, frozen remains of some animal who wasn't nearly as deft at negotiating the northbound lanes of I-94 as me. I looked out the window and half-wondered if it too, was now one with anything besides the pavement and the ice and the rumble of the highway. Bad omen, I thought. I said a prayer in my own way for both of our souls, remembering again, for a quick nauseating second, the box of tax records in my back seat and the IRS auditor waiting my arrival in exactly 37 minutes.

She was attending Maharishi University and studying flying yoga or some type of meditation where one can eventually learn to ‘hover,' continued the lady on the radio. She went on about sitting in silence and levitating in her mind and, well...just becoming one with everything, or allness, and I have to say, at that particular moment, I felt pretty darn mortal. It was snowing very hard, I had a back seat full of bank statements; money long spent and barely accounted for, and to be quite blunt, an IRS agent was the last person I felt like encountering that day. I believe I also experienced a sudden sensation of levitation but it wasn't of the transcendental nature nor was it anything even remotely close to what the lady on the radio was discussing. Traffic screamed by my window while I took a few seconds to gather my senses, enter my notes of oneness onto its proper screen, then push hard and away toward the Illinois/Wisconsin border town of Genoa City for a few hours of fun and games at $200 bucks per copy.

An Accountant, an Italian, and an IRS agent walk into a bar...

It was the wrong day. A Treasury Department representative was in fact, in the conference room but he wasn't there to see me. My own red letter day had been moved 'indefinitely into the future' according to my Wizard. Somehow, even with all the technology on both ends, I never got the message. This was fine. This was oneness, floating above the ground, with sugar on top, as far as I was concerned.

"Let's get some caffeine," said the Wizard, grabbing his hat and overcoat while motioning toward the conference room with a head tilt.

"Tell him he can come, too. His appointment just called to reschedule. Too bad, huh?" He said, chuckling away at 5.5 cents a second.

I froze. Why did I have to break someone else's bad news to the G-Man? I was the one who drove an hour through a blizzard to stick my neck on the block for a tax year ending in a very foggy period of my life from a previous century I barely recall. And, I was on time, too. At $200 an hour I just wanted to about face and bolt.

We made eye contact. The IRS guy got up from the table and approached me just as my iPhone pinged my e-mail with a blast of news alerts; the Dow was fighting hard to recover, the foreign markets were going apeshit, Heath Ledger was found dead...

"How do you like that?"

What? How do I like what? Why is he talking to me? My appointment was rescheduled indefinitely into the future. I was on time. I prayed for a dead animal. My Wizard said everything was cool...

"Your iPhone. How do you like it? Thinking about finally ditching my BlackBerry."

I forgot I was still holding it. The little fellow couldn't have been more than 30 years old. He wore a black shirt and wrinkled black tie with equally wrinkled pants and scuffed-up shoes. He had one of those haircuts that Starbucks baristas and bank tellers in grocery stores like to sport these days--kind of shaved, kind of not--you know what I'm talking about. He had a very soft voice. I handed him my iPhone for examination.

"Heath Ledger just died," was all I could think of to say.

He took my device, read the screen and looked me back in the eye. I thought he was going to cry. He waited a few seconds before speaking. The young civil servant, with his watery blue eyes and stark, unpressed attire indeed, appeared to have a soul. His face showed compassion and remorse. He fiddled with the screen for a moment or two before handing it back to me.

"Tax deductible if you use Schedule C," he said.

"Yeah. I know," I thought to myself. "It's my favorite Schedule. It's the whole reason I'm even here to begin with..."said I.

G.P.



Geno Petro

image by fusilly

Pick me, Pick me...

Click on the hyperlink below to see this week's Bloodhound Blog contest winners (including my own She tried to make me buy a rehab... {...but I said no, no, no} which won the Odysseus Medal. Hooray!)

http://www.bloodhoundrealty.com/BloodhoundBlog/?p=2614

As you probably know, I've been posting my more general and wide sweeping content on the Bloodhound national platform since November while keeping my real estate focus here at CHW more 'localized' and relevant to the market I work in every day. Anyway, check it out. You'll find 23 of the best RE.net writers in the country at BHB, all unchained, and all baying to the voices in their own heads....Oh yeah.

Geno Petro

Need I Say More?

Photos by Geno Petro

Is Snow Organic? (or just distasteful)

This is one of the many windows in my house I stare out of when the snow is too deep to shovel, there is unwanted excess time on my hands, or I can't think of one meaningful real estate-centric item to write about without being negative about the political forces that be in this city; in other words, any and all events outside of my control that cost me (and my clients) money. And in case you haven't noticed---from the Chicago Association of Realtors (C.A.R.), to the the public servants we taxpayers elected to mandate law in City Hall, to that pontificating supernova of talking hairdos that calls itself The Media---it's all political.

That, and there's nothing good to eat in my house. Everything we have on the shelves or in the fridge seems to be organic and personally, I was just fine with the old way--pre-organic or un-organic or not organic or whatever it used to be called before our grocery bill doubled. Cold, hungry, with nothing really upbeat to say about my chosen profession is not a good place for an otherwise blithe real estate blogger like me to find himself in. The half-full glass of organic pomegranate juice starts looking a little half-empty, if you know what I'm saying.

You see, one recent Chicago real estate news 'development,' reported in tandem with another non-related but equally germain city 'issue,' has had me speaking in tongues back to my car radio every day for a week now; as if mere rush hour traffic in itself isn't enough to make a holy man, much less a sinner like myself, take you know Who's name in vain a dozen times in as many city blocks behind a staggered bevy of CTA buses, insane bicyclists (oh yeah) and C-Dot snow plows. So here it is, laid out for you; the ugly reality that has me seeking something warm and beautiful on the other side of the frosted window pane...

First of all, the Cook County property tax bills are arriving in the mail again this week (for some smelly political reason I won't go into here) just a mere 60 days after the last semi-annual payment was due in full. In my case, this is another $6,000 thanks to the sad fact that the city is always 18 months in the arrears and I closed on my new house last September before the tax pro-ration formula could be accurately factored into my settlement costs. BTW, we couldn't determine the actual tax at that time because (again, for the same smelly reason I won't go into here) the budget wasn't balanced in Springfield and the whole process was excessively late due to legislative bickering. I've never been to Springfield but I'm pretty sure I hate it there.

and...

Secondly, the City of Chicago Aldermen (i.e. our elected officials), against the wishes of, I dare say, every future property owner within a 12 mile radius of City Hall (i.e. the city limits) and any self-respecting buy-side representative who pays his dues to C.A.R., overwhelmingly (41-6) passed a 40% Property Stamp increase on future real estate purchases, effective April 1st of this year. The new 'Transfer Stamp' (which is a political word for a #@&#! tax) is now $10.50 per each $1,000 of purchase price. (That's over $5,000 on a $500,000 purchase, $10,500 on a million.) The old 'Stamp' of $7.50 per $1,000 was already barely palatable and considered by most on the buy side of any real estate transaction to be the ugliest line on the HUD statement.

Those two concurrent issues along with organic food in general are really putting me off right now. So like I said; I'm staring out the window, eating a carrot stick (from a gently hugged,locally grown carrot tree, no doubt), imagining something warm and beautiful on the other side to write about. Deep breath...

Let's see...my phone has been ringing, albeit not off the hook, but ringing, nonetheless. Two listings recently came under contract and another just closed. Our ChicagoHomeEstates.com internet presence appears to be handling anything Morse's Law might extrapolate into the foreseeable future and clients are in my car every weekend for the next four weeks. I suppose as long as you don't mind paying taxes and you don't care what what you put in your mouth or how much it costs then hell, it's sunny and 72 outside... as long as you wear shades and four layers of gortex. Oh yeah...and saved up for a snowy tax day.

ps...I know that carrots really don't grow on trees but it's as funny as I can allow myself be under such circumstances...


Geno Petro

Oh yeah, one more...for Spicoli

My parents hated this one so much they refused to pay the school photographer. Nor did it make it into the class yearbook that year. (What you're seeing is a bootleg copy I smuggled from my homeroom teacher's desk before it got sent back to the warehouse with all the other rejects.) Oh, how things have changed since 1972.

I think I thought I was Kurt Cobain--- before Kurt Cobain was even born --okay, maybe he was 5 in '72 but I had the look first--(Courtney Love, please stay away. There's no liquor in the house.) However, my boss thinks I looked like Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

Anyway, what the glam shot doesn't show is a copy of The Catcher in the Rye in my back pocket and a yet undiscovered and unyielding passion to be an advocate for the Chicago Real Estate consumer. Ahem...

"Free bird!"


Geno Petro

Random Photos and Meanderings

Webcam & iPhone photos, i.e., a little too much free time between deals...

Someone recently commented on one of my blogs: "What's up with the Blair Witch photo?" Nice. So I shot a new one with the same webcam but without the winterwear (see at top). Not much better. My mother hates them both so of course what do I do? I post them for the entire world to see. The truth is, no matter how bad of a picture I take, I look even worse in person. That's why people enjoy me for my personality and general real estate expertise and not for anything particularly above skin level. HaHa...I mean, LOL.

So, from the top down:

My new webcam picture, the best of a bad lot.

My favorite Chicago building, The Rookery.

A funny sign on my way to the office.

The subject business that allegedly 'skips cycles' and has 'poor management.' Go figure.

The Chicago Brown Line EL advertising non-stop flights to London and New York. Go figure again.

'Blair Witch Geno.'

'Blair Witch Elvis.'

'Blair Witch Oscar.'

Anyway, these are things that made me smile this week. Coming soon, a list of things that didn't...

Geno Petro

No, it's not that kind of 'green'

What would Frances Cabrini and William Green think? The remaining few red brick (the Reds) and white concrete (the Whites) highrise canyons known as Cabrini-Green are slowly but finally, resting in pieces. Sixty-five years after the inception of one of the least successful social experiments in U.S. history, closure, if not complete demolition, is finally in order.

Dotted along a stretch of land that was planned as an enclave of low income housing and actually occupied by Italian imigrants in its early days, the experiment hit the Near North Chicago landscape (and social elite) like a series of undefendable meteors over a twenty year period. The notorious Green, a community that in many way began decaying before its roots ever took hold, is all but gone now. Only a few skeletons and the ghosts and memories of a couple hundred thousand Chicagoans from a past era remain.

In another five years it will be as if Cabrini-Green never existed; just like the current intersection of Armitage and Sheffield, the cafe society ground zero of upscale Lincoln Park (Starbucks, Vosges, Rugby) that once was home instead, to five (5) liquor stores on four (4) adjacent corners and dozens of heroin 'shooting galleries' within spitting distance. I'm not saying one way or another which is better although I suppose if forced to choose, I'd rather be caught dead in a Polo shirt and Dockers in Lincoln Park in the year 2008 than in an alley with a needle in my arm in 1968. But believe me, both scenarios are pure fiction.

Anyway, here's to the future of Urban Development and responsible City Planning---may they eventually get it right so we can all move on to more pressing issues, like bringing the 2016 Olympics to town, saving the Public Transportation infrastructure, and watching baseball when the ivy is brown at Wrigley or the Autumn wind is blowing out over left-center at 35th and Wentworth...

images by technovelgy and me

Geno Petro

Conforming Mumbo Jumbo...

Okay, this is my idea. It came to me the other night as I lie awake mentally tossing around all my deals and wondering how many of them might actually make it to the finish line (i.e. the Closing Table). Thinking as an Investor/Developer, I pondered this: Find a way to buy, construct then market a neighborhood project with an across the board price point that hovers precisely at the Conforming/Jumbo loan rate cutoff--in other words every Unit in this community would have a cost basis price of $417,000 out, or rather, 'in the door'--plus... whatever down payment the Lender requires. They can fight amongst themselves for that business. Also, all the 2nd Mortgage people who don't want to lend money anymore wouldn't have a thing to worry about because they aren't invited to this party.

Price increases can only occur if the Conforming Rate moves up. Want to offer less? The answer is NO. Want to offer more? That ultimate number would be between the Buyer and the Lender. In other words, the cost of a house in my utopian 'hood would be whatever the Conforming rate currently is plus whatever Down Payment the Buyer can negotiate with the Bank on his/her own. This amount would then be placed in Escrow in a different financial vehicle; something with both upside and guarantees, like an Annuity, or stock in Google, to be determined of course, at a later date when and if this economic flying machine ever got off the ground.

The Listing Realtor would get paid on the $417,000, The Builder would take his profit out of the $417,000. The initial Acquisition Cost of the Land would come out of the $417,000. Hard costs and bank fees charged to the Builder would come out of the $417,000. All future capital improvements would be 100% tax decuctible and thus, not added on the Price. There are no Appraisers in this near perfect model because the bank pre-appraised everything before the project began. Foreclosures would occur only because a particular Buyer no longer had the financial ability to make the payments on the loan, not because the Unit lost value and simply walking away seemed like the best idea. Oh yeah, want to sell? Fine. The Price is $417,000. The Seller's profit comes out of the side investment. They can also keep any paydown of the original (and only) loan; again, that would be the $417,000. The Bank makes its money on the Origination Fees, Ammortization/Interest /Yield etc...)

If Foreclosure is indeed unavoidable, the Bank would simply keep the Down Payment Escrow and put the Defaulted Property back on the market for....

Guess...

That's right; $417,000. Oh yeah, plus whatever Down Payment they negotiated with the new Buyer. There would be no Short Sales. Short Sales would be declared an Act of Terrorism and that would be left up to Jenna Bush, by this time the 46th or so President, to decide in the year 2024 or thereabouts, when something like this might make better sense.

Either that....

or...

Another idea of mine called Size 6. It would be a Woman's Store that only sold Size 6 shoes, dresses, bathing suits, etc., regardless of the height and weight of the female customer or how huge her feet are or the actual amount of material needed to construct such individual couture or footwear. The label would simply say... 'Size 6.' The Sign above the store door would say 'Size 6.' All Media advertising would declare...Size 6 is the new Size 14! Again, this would be all be subject to the approval and veto authority of Ms. Bush and whatever she decides is best for the country; she, and of course, Oprah.

I really do need to get some sleep...or something better Close soon, one.

LOL,

Geno