Club Chaos Agents - All Things Hollish, Wacked, and Jacked

The La Brea Tar Pits of what is modern day Los Angeles are renowned for their eternal incarceration of prehistoric life.  Think an 18 to life stint in Folsom is a rough hitch?  Try fossilizing yourself in natural asphalt for thousands of years following an untimely demise that accompanied no greater sin than stepping out for a bite to eat.  Several millenia later, they jackhammer your permanently surprised face out of the earth's candy shell for the sole purpose of humiliating your petrified remains in front of busloads of insolent school kids and German tourists.  Many victims were believed to have plummeted into the inky abyss after stopping for a drink from the surface water that obscured the death trap below.  Subsequent predators then eagerly followed the trail of easy prey to a sticky fate of their own.

Which brings me to dual agency.  To hear most Real Estate professionals describe it, the much maligned practice of dual agency is every bit the equal of those gooey pits as a carnivorous devourer of wayward souls.  Why, one would surely toss baby Jessica back down a well teeming with the stuff before subjecting her to the horrors of limited representation.  In the nearly forty thousand years that the tar pits have been open for business, one human being is known to have been swallowed amongst the saber-tooth tigers, woolly mammoths, ground sloths and aspiring B-level actors.  Meanwhile, dual agency has swallowed countless John & Jane Doe's in only two decades of practice in the metro Phoenix market.  In that time, there has arisen a chorus of familiar refrains.

"How can an agent or brokerage adequately represent two parties with competing interests in a single transaction?"

"How can an agent or brokerage remain neutral when I employed him/her to be an advocate?"

"How can my agent possibly bring me the head of Indigo Montoya if he also represents said eleven-fingered abomination who killed my father?"

As attorneys shape our contracts and further mold our practices to mirror their own, the days of the polyester-encased salesman are largely behind us.  That is a good thing.  There are clear delineations in terms of the roles and responsibilities of the agents involved in the transaction, as opposed to the ambiguity that often existed before the advent of buyer agency.  Under the previous doctrine of sub-agency, an agent could show his buyer property over the course of three months, only to morph into a subagent of the seller when negotiations began on a property.  A ludicrous setup if there ever was one.  Thus, the greater transparency in distinguishing where allegiances lie in a Real Estate transaction has been a positive result.  The rise of buyer agency has led to the tandem rise of another apparent conflict of interest in representative terms, however: Dual agency.

Dual agency arises out of transactional occurrences in which the same broker represents both buyer and seller.  Sometimes this entails one agent working on behalf of both parties, but more common, especially in large brokerages, are occasions where an agent from Brokerage A brings a buyer to the listing held by another agent from Brokerage A.  Even though there are two agents involved in the potential sale, all Real Estate business flows through the company's designated broker.  Thus, even though, in practical terms, each side may appear to have the exclusive representation of their chosen agent, the same broker ultimately bears responsibility for both sides of the transaction. 

While I agree that a single agent attempting to wear both hats (or neither if he more or less recuses himself as a mediator between parties in the process) in a transaction is generally marginalizing his service, it is inane to argue that all dual agency eventualities are, and should be, avoidable.  If a buyer wishes to purchase one of my listings without the involvement of another agent, I will certainly oblige, but my loyalty is unmistakable.  I represent the seller exclusively, and the buyer is my customer.  When I take on a buyer client, however, it is ludicrous to suggest that I refrain from showing them certain listings simply because a fellow Realty Executive has it up for sale.  If a property fits the criteria of my client, I don't care if it is listed by Ming the Merciless.  Full disclosure is paramount, but the chest-thumping that often decries all possible manifestations of dual agency is misguided.  Would my seller clients really prefer that I refrained from showing my listings to fellow Realty Executives, drastically reducing their potential buyer pool?  Would my buyers really prefer I exclude the listings from the top selling brokerage in the state when we begin our hunt?  I highly doubt it.  Matter of fact, I have yet to encounter the client that has instructed me to do so after an initial discussion of the limitations in representation that can crop up in such circumstances.  Finding the house or the buyer is first and foremost.  Concerns over representational nuance is secondary.

There can be advantages in addition to the well reported disadvantages with dual agency.  Some principals may find the process less adversarial and more expedient when the variable of a competing agent is removed from the equation.  It can very well be argued that the dynamic lessens the presence of the "telephone game" syndrome and needless acrimony that can accompany the dueling egos of multiple agents.  More to the point, if agents of the same brokerage have a solid working relationship, and work for a reputable organization, there is the added benefit of knowing the transaction will be handled professionally.  Limited representation from a pro is of far more benefit than full representation from a schmuck.  While representation may be limited for a client, it is equally limited on the other side of the table.  The playing field remains level, as it is in cases in which each party has the full, unflinching representation of a brokerage.

Dual agency is one of those topics that causes a fair amount of unease, but it shouldn't be feared by name alone.  You should have full and frank discussions with your chosen agent about the possible ramifications of the various forms of agency floating around out there (preferably at the beginning of your relationship, rather than a forced immersion at the time of a contract submission).  There are circumstances which may call for it, and as long as all parties understand and agree with the terms, can prove beneficial.  Is it ideal?  Far from it.  Then again, neither is passing up the home of your dreams because it has the misfortune of being listed for sale by your agent's brokerage.

Dual Agency:  It's not just for shafting the public anymore!

Without reasonable question, banks are in charge of the current Real Estate market here in Scottsdale and the greater Phoenix area.  Patently absurd low pricing of an overwhelming abundance of foreclosure and short sale listings dictates that financial institutions remain the bully of our local pulpit.  While we may lament this eventuality, we certainly cannot deny it without yielding hard-earned credibility.  Dominance in the marketplace, however, should not be mistaken for carte blanche to operate in a manner independent of obligation.

Consumers, and by the transitive property their chosen agents, put up with a great deal when pursuing a distressed (be it physical or financial) property.  Selling institutions call the shots on the choice of title company, manufacture from afar their own addenda that often flies in the face of local custom or … gulp … law.  All too aware that these catacombs house the buried Real Estate treasure they seek, buyers eagerly agree to any and all provisions the banks and their lawyers concoct.  For the most part, after scrutinizing the often arcane verbiage of said addenda and verifying that an actual, legitimate escrow company has been selected to perform the title work (as opposed to some flunky sister company on the other side of the country in which the seller has a financial stake), we swallow hard on the arrogance and proceed under the bank’s terms.  The values on their properties are just too good to be dissuaded by negotiable minutia. 

But that’s where it ends.

Perhaps a happenstance created by a bank that has become accustomed to proffering any mandate it wishes upon a transaction, many asset managers at said institutions and the lackeys charged with listing and selling their portfolios seem to have gained the mistaken notion that they can dictate deviations from the written purchase agreement based on the whims of internal policy.  Case in point, I am currently embroiled in a transaction that is going along swimmingly aside from the seller’s constant refusal to execute documents that were agreed to and made part of the original purchase contract.  I have heard numerous explanations for the contractual breaches, and some of them even make sense.  None of them, though, absolve the seller of their contractual obligations.

The learned attorneys who advise their clients (banks) not to sign certain documents would do well to advise their clients to address such matters at the time, if not before, the contract is negotiated.  I am not an attorney, but surely they understand that unilateral, after-the-fact contract revision and/or breach is far more likely to result in litigation for their clients than the terms of the documents found to be objectionable for one reason or another. 

Then again, perhaps deterrence from future litigation is not in the best financial interest of that crack legal staff.

I call on buyers and their representative agents to stand up for the rights and protections you are afforded by the purchase contracts you execute.  Fear of losing the bargain of a lifetime has led too many to cow-tow to the internal policies of the banks on the other side of the country table.  Yes, there are certain stipulations you must live with if you wish to purchase a bank controlled property, but at the end of the day, they are just sellers who must abide by the same rules and regulations as everyone else.  Assuming you didn't forget to pack heat on your way to a bank-owned gunfight, stick to your guns and do not suffer any shirking of the selling party’s obligations or infringement upon your contractual rights lightly.  And make sure you grab the glock, not the air rifle.  The pea shooter of polite request will just get your hair touseled and cheeks pinched.

It's big boy time when dealing with a corporate monolith.

Aside from my plant based carpet and air duct cleaning business, I have an interior design practice with an in-house faux finishing studio.  My father was an artist and a painter and I grew up around painted finishes, and never thought they would hold any significance for me.  When I was younger, I didn't really care to learn any of these techniques, and sadly, did not.  But, I did always ask my ever patient father to take me to the homes of the rich and famous who were his clients. That was an education in itself and from a very early age, I knew that being a designer would be the most gratifying profession for me. Nine years ago I finally decided to stop hiring others to do decorative painting for my clients and had to reach back into my childhood and re-frame and retrace the steps my father would always beg me to learn. Bittersweet and determined, I did so.

Except now, the way I like to create Frescoes, Lime Washes, Pigment Washes, Venetian Plaster, and almost all decorative finishes presently, is without toxic chemicals and pursuant off-gassing.  Here are a few of the finishes we have done recently without the use of traditional chemically laden formulas. Healthier for the inhabitants as well as for the artists. All of the following were done with hand troweled non-slaked plaster, ground earth pigments and  soy based waxes tinted by us. They can be used almost everywhere - walls and ceilings, doors, furniture, fireplaces, fountains, sinks, and as you can see bathtubs that used to be white.

There was an old microfiche machine at my office when I started in this business.  It would be awhile before plat maps went online.  The Mr. Coffee next to the old Xerox copier had yet to be replaced by the single-shot vacuum pack machination that would allow agents to select from a variety of roasts.  The office itself teemed with Real Estate synergy as the exodus to the home office wouldn't begin in earnest for another five years or so. 

Against the backdrop of what is now considered the Neolithic Era of the Real Estate Industry, those pioneers who embraced the radical technological advancements of email and personal websites scoffed at the hopelessly crude tools of the trade still wielded by the Paleolithic holdovers from days gone by.  Quick to shovel dirt on the shallow graves these dinosaurs had themselves seemingly dug by ignoring the advancing world around them, the younger set was highly amused by one agent in particular who still used the rickety old typewriter in the work room for personal correspondence. 

While derision for the curmudgeon's refusal to keep up with the times was less hostile than affectionate, that lone typewriter signaled, for many, the functional obsolescence of more than merely the machine itself.  The sooner we could put that beast of burden out to pasture, the sooner our brokerage would live up to its reputation as industry leader within the Phoenix market.  It's a competitive world out there, and you can't rest on yesterday's laurels if you wish to stay relevent, after all.  To stay on that cutting edge, you must do some cutting.  Though it was never verbalized, the insinuation that both man and machine should succumb gracefully to the scrap heap to make way for the new breed was palpable.

That was just over ten years ago.  The typewriter is gone, but the agent remains.  Was there a sudden epiphany about the direction of the business and a need to be at the forefront of the technological revolution?  Certainly not.  We simply dragged the typewriter outside one day after an office vote and beat the thing back into the Stone Age.  Left with little alternative, the old guy grudgingly learned how to email and even used the fax machine on occasion.  But websites?  Search engine optimization?  Let the hotshots figure that nonsense out.  He would rather sell Real Estate than hop on every new trend.

And he did.  One of the most successful agents in our brokerage, he pretty much sticks to managing his own investments at this point.  Investments cultivated during the bust years.  Remember when everyone was ditching their land holdings in the ‘80s as values tanked and interest rates spiked simultaneously?  He held on.  Remember the stagflation of the ‘70s?  He amassed quite a portfolio amidst those treacherous market forces. 

The man simply knows Real Estate. 

Dinosaurs get to be dinosaurs in this business for a reason.  In an industry that has more attrition than the lineup for Guns ‘N Roses, only those who have the market cornered on business acumen and opportunistic savvy linger long enough to be subjected to the ignominious rebukes and condescension of the next generation.  Those of us who would spread our peacock feathers to boast of our rising profiles in comparison to the sagging numbers of our predecessors would be better served to squeeze every last drop of knowledge and advice from their battle-tested minds. 

So we are the big dogs today.  Big deal.  This porch has been occupied by far better agents in years past.  Agents that made presentations face to face instead of via email and fax.  Agents who actually employed salesmanship and personal skills to seal transactions versus simply heaping reams of readily available data upon their subjects.  Agents who can recognize the oncoming booms and busts because they have experienced these cycles many times over.  Agents who have thrived in the face of all manner of advancing technologies (for those who would assert otherwise, technology didn't just suddenly appear post 2000).  Agents who know what works for their business and what does not.  Agents who do not confuse the tools of selling Real Estate with the actual business of selling Real Estate. 

Like those ancient machines that once inhabited our offices paved the way for the next generation of technology, so have those who plied their abilities in days of yore been pre-requiste for the current crop of agents.  We have gotten to where we are now on the backs of our predecessors.  Ironically, some would deign to call the older generation of agents blind to new technology while not recognizing their own limited sight.  Such hasty and dismissive judgment renders one blind to the positive attributes that have crafted long, successful careers.  Any comet can streak brightly across the sky for a short period of time.  The trick is in maintaining a lifespan past the initial fluorescent brilliance.

The more I think about it, the more I find the term "dinosaur" to be quite appropriate.  As opposed to those who throw it about with such arrogance and disdain, however, I liken it more to the way many productive old timers will eventually leave the industry.  Forget the magic bullet of SEO, blogging or any other marketing flavor of the month; it's going to take nothing short of a meteor strike to kill those careers.  Instead of chastising these agents for what they are not, I seek to absorb what they are in vain attempt to distill the core secret to their longevity down to its very essence.  I would recommend some of the more vocal online detractors of our industry elders do the same.  We should all be so lucky to stick around long enough to earn such scorn.

Funny thing, but about 75% of the agents who mocked that agent ten years ago are nowhere to be found today; knocked off their lofty perches by a brutal market they didn't see coming.  Meanwhile, he keeps on keeping on, trying to figure out how to change the ribbon on the office PC.  Try not to feel too sorry for him as he outlasts the next wave of revolutionaries with quaint designs on yet another industry coup d'etat.

I believe it was Confucius who said that he who hesitates gets flattened by an 18 wheeler laden with 10 tons of abject irony along life’s crooked highway.  Or was it something about those who dally within the confines of a centrifuge being at great peril of becoming centrifugal?  Regardless of the exact phrasing, the veracity of the axiom is never more resplendent in self evidence than in its pertinence to a Real Estate transaction.  Get in, get out, and for God’s sakes man, do it on the quick step.

Case in point: 

August 8^th, 2009.  The night was warm and dry.  Once again defying all logic, Phoenix did not burn up upon reentry into this late summer evening, and its denizens scurried out of air conditioned alcoves to forage for supplies as the sun dipped below the White Tank Mountains in the far Western sky.  Taking full advantage of the reprieve, I was amongst the throng vying to get sixty eight errands done in a three hour span.  That’s when the call came.

A little background.  A client of mine purchased a beautiful home in Queen Creek two years ago.  One job transfer and complete meltdown of Western civilization later, the home is unfortunately worth about 50% of its prior value.  So we attempted to hammer out a short sale.  Rife with frustration, incompetence, duplication and other multi-syllabic words, short sales are the very antithesis of expediency.  It takes forever and a day just to get a negotiator from the bank assigned to the transaction.  Once the negotiator is assigned, it can literally take weeks just to choke the direct phone number to the cave where they hide him out of a disinterested call center employee. 

It’s crazy.  It’s maddening.  It’s 2009.

The upshot is that 6 months and many stops and starts later, the deal we secured was approved by the bank and headed for closing.  Loan docs were in and we were set to put a ribbon on the whole shebang in two days.  It didn’t matter that the bank had screwed up the first approval by providing an unrealistic closing window.  It didn’t matter that it took an additional three weeks and a new set of BPOs (broker price opinions) to get the closing timeframe extended to a reasonable period of time to line up the buyer’s financing.  It didn’t matter that the buyer had nearly backed out several times during the interminable wait as concern mounted about the continued erosion in values.  Or that we had to sweat through an appraisal in August for a sale that was negotiated in February.  We were finally at the finish line.

And then the fateful call came.  Had the pool service not been performed?  Was there new damage to the property?  No, we had somehow managed to ride out the entire escrow without incurring any additional issues with the home itself. 

The buyer lost his job.

Called in over the weekend and informed that his services were no longer wanted, months of work went straight down the portal to Real Estate hell that opened up under our feet.  More pointedly, months of waiting went down said portal.  Had the lienholder acted with the expediency and urgency that actual Real Estate professionals understand is vital to the successful culmination of a transaction, the unfortunate eventuality would be somebody else’s problem.  Instead, the hot potato remains firmly in the bank’s seared hands.

Time kills deals. 

The glacial pace that most institutions operate with only serves to demonstrate why bankers should stick to banking.  The moral that the average consumer can take from this tale of woe is that you never take a Real Estate sale for granted.  Things can and will happen between contract acceptance and closing.  To limit those things that can sink your battleship, you want to get to the closing table as soon as humanly possible.  Death, job loss, a bad night in Vegas … any manner of variable can rear its red inked head to sabotage your sale. 

When you have the opportunity to close, close.  If that means you have to reschedule the movers and change the turn-off date on your utilities, so be it.  A little inconvenience is cheap insurance against catastrophe.

Flattened by the big rig and dizzy from centrifugal force, we limp back onto the market.  Nimble as we can be with a 500 pound gorilla in tow.

I spotted the envelope one day when I was six. It was addressed to my brother with an important government return address. It stated - "Registered Alien" next to his name.  Oh the shame, the horror. I knew he was weird, dangerously smug, but this!  He must be a handsome "Grey" I surmised.  But wait a minute; weren't aliens highly intelligent, possessing amazing powers? I ventured a guess that he was suffering from a truly universal malady, one that struck countless humans as well. Evidently, like many others, he was short on talent, long on looks. Though lately, I could hardly understand him as he and our mother were always speaking Latin together.  Something about getting him into the right university, but now I seriously doubted that was the case. Later that evening I questioned my mother about this as tactfully as I could.  She distastefully recoiled and stated in French "We are all registered aliens, except you. What about it?" I stopped in my tracks, I was surrounded.

I should have known something was up with them. The food - always a dead giveaway - snails, frog legs, anchovy fillets criss-crossing everything, often with olives punctuating the negative space; prompting a neighbor to always comment, "oh, it  looks like a board game" which in turn prompted my mother to later mutter "culinary barbarians..." There was also all that runny cheese that could hardly be contained in the plastic wrap, oval and flat rounds tins with keys and strange writing on them filled the cupboards, no neon bright ketchup or mustard ever to be found. And that music they always listened to - opera, never in English or anything clearly understandable.... I had been blind and yet the only one not afflicted.  No wonder when my parents came home, my friends took off so quickly. I used to think it strange when asked if they wanted to stay for dinner, they were visibly shaken.

This latest intelligence sent me on a "search and compare" mission canvassing my neighborhood.  What was really going on in everyone else's home?  Sadly, no one else was fooled.  Every time it rained, the snails would sail out onto the sidewalks. Inevitably, the phone would ring. The neighborhood boys would call and say - "Tell your mother - dinner's on the sidewalk!" For some reason this never bothered me, I thought it rather clever. But I never dared tell my mother this timely news for fear of her going out in the rain and catching them. At this point, I felt she would eat anything that moved.

But really, how had I let myself be duped like this.  Now, it all made sense as to why most of my parent's friends and associates were just like them - certainly aliens as well. And most of them had that insidious "Eiffel Tower" monument, or " Leaning Tower of Pisa"  somewhere in their homes.  Obviously a miniature version of a communication tower, similar to the one Felix and the Professor had...All this made me far more interested in the other houses and buildings around me. I knew what was going on in my newly deemed freakish household.  But what did people who were not connected to such beings do, really?  I had to venture out beyond my circle of friends at this point.

My home, from the outside looked normal.  Once you entered, well, that was a different story. We had modern yet slightly rustic Italian furniture, some of it was sculptural looking made with straight almost Giacometti looking hand wrought iron supports that reminded me of bird legs, cork floors, not as nice as the cork now, and paintings that I didn't really understand. There was brick and wood and white walls everywhere. Just red, black and white it seemed. My mother loved it. The rest of us just endured it. Actually, I hated it. I used to color with crayons, as that was the only medium that stuck, alternating bands of expressive colors in the rusticated grout lines of the brick that surrounded the fireplace as well as an entire wall whenever I could. My ongoing, yet constantly interrupted goal was to finish the entire wall before I was caught. Then my color rationed family could see how truly lovely it would be. I thought it looked beautiful, similar to a Mondrian. Believe me I always paid the price, but I yearned for some extra color and that was all there was in my arsenal. My patient father cleaned it repeatedly and always winked at me afterward.  He was a painter, he knew.  Even though he was one of them...

For my mission, I began to focus on the Spanish Colonial houses and buildings in my neighborhood. They had huge windows and courtyards and foliage allowing me to do my reconnaissance. Everyday, after school, I would leave my friends and go off on my own and peer into various windows in Hollywood, CA. of all places. I chose my streets carefully but was not afraid of anything, why should I be? I lived among aliens.

Our house was modest in comparison to these grand structures. Could mere humans live in these? It was a stroke of surreptitious timing that in one of these beautifully ornate facades, I peered through the mullioned window and saw that "The Munsters" was on.  I, of course always noticed that Marilyn looked so normal and was surrounded by....why I never thought of this before.  Marilyn was just like me, or I was just like Marilyn. And the nerve, those Munters thought she was odd, less than... I had to sit down and peer over the carved stone of the window surround and really observe how she behaved among all this madness. I could not really hear the soundtrack, so I focused intently on the expressions, the gestures, all the unspoken courtesies. She seemed so comfortable, so gracious, so kind and giving. Affectionate even. What was her problem?  She was like I used to be, downright oblivious.

During the walk home I kept telling myself, if Marilyn can do it, so can I. Besides, she looked great next to them.  I could use a boost with regards to my slipping authority being the lone minority and all. This new approach, possibly showcasing my attractive normalacy, made me quite happy as during my astute observations just moments ago, it led me to believe that my mother and brother, especially, were so full of themselves, just like Lily Munster.  So for awhile, I abandoned peering into Spanish Colonial windows and hurried home instead to study at "The School Of Marilyn" otherwise known as "The Munsters" on dealing with, well, you know....the differences within families.

Michelle Viggiano  Scottsdale & Phoenix Four Winds Healthy Home Carpet and Air Duct Cleaning www.healthyhomeaz.com 

That train of thought by Ralph Waldo Emerson stared me in the face today while at a clients home.  I rarely go out on carpet and air duct cleaning jobs with the tech, but today I did. My presence is not usually needed out in the field, but today was a bit different.  The client could barely speak as it appeared he had a stroke, so we all had to put our heads together on this one. I went to the address thinking perhaps a care giver would be present.

We ring the doorbell and an older gentleman opens the door and motions us into the main living rooms. He has a modest but charming home with books everywhere, and I mean everywhere.  Once inside the living and dining rooms, I lay my eyes on some of the most beautiful antique and semi-antique Oriental Rugs I have seen outside of Sothebys and markets in Turkey, Iran or Switzerland. I used to be an Oriental rug collector. I stopped, because for me, it was as addictive, as strong as, if you were to put a "d" in front of the word "rug".  Our job was to clean his antique Oriental rugs, but he didn't want us to take them with us, we were to do it there, but in the old world way, by hand, with a brush. I said "yes" with immediate enthusiasm and immediately received a slight jab below my rib cage from you know who. They were so beautiful, just exquisite. It was like hanging around in the old neighborhood. The one I usually avoid at all costs, because I know how relapses happen.  So, yes it is true.  I was intoxicated by the rugs. High on everything they offered to me, just like in the old days.

So several hours later, we gave him the final invoice and recived a check for $300.00 more than the total due. His handwriting was shaky, but there was a note along with the check that read - "When You Were Cleaning My Rugs I Saw Inside You"  As we left he kissed my hand...at that point, I would have gladly done it for free.

 Michelle Viggiano Scottsdale & Phoenix Green Plant Based Carpet and Air Duct Cleaning www.healthyhomeaz.com

Smoke and Mirrors...I was at one with it. It was nothing but a house of cards, from the initial planning stages right up to the departing flight from Iran. Secrets and lies - a resounding yes.  Discoveries and truths - a whispering nod. As it all brought me to my knees more than once.

A Tower of Silence at the Zoroastrian Burial Grounds,Yazd, Iran. I am the figure in black in the lower right.

I had at that point in my life been to about fifty countries and lived and worked in the Middle East for almost a decade. I visited many Muslim countries all over the world and spent a month in Malyasia, time in Egypt, Jordan, Syria, the list is long.  But nothing prepared me for Iran. The jewel in the crown which pierced my temples as I wore it; forever altering my consciousness long after the precious headress was discarded. 

  At the mountains in Iran.

 I should have know something was in store for me in that country. While in Damascus at the Iranian Embassy where our visas were issued, an Orthodox nun, proudly wearing her full habit, would periodically waltz in and out of the building all the while bossing everyone around. The Iranians rewarded her with tea and laughter while she was there and miraculously the smiles did not disappear quickly as she left. That should have been my first clue.

  My male traveling companion pretended to be my husband while we were there.  He is gay,  I was married to my ex-husband at that time.  See, we were hopelessly in sync with the smoke and....So we begin our travels throughout Iran with our dedicated guide.  Ebby, an Iranian who lived in Germany for the last twelve years and is blond due to his Russian ancestry.  We all travel together traversing the country, in an Iranian montaged car that looks like, but does not sound like a Chevy Nova. It appeared as if three Westerners, Americans in this case, were on holiday...with no American Embassy, no American money or credit cards accepted and only the Swiss embassy on Wednesdays, between noon and 2:00 pm, possibly offering any assistance if things turned bad.

Truck drivers are the same all over. Check out the "babes" on either side of the license plate.

An orginial antique print by Christian Neighbur of Egyptian hieroglyphics drawn by him during the Danish Expedition to Arabia in the middle of the 18th century.  From the Dutch edition of  Niebuhr's Travels through Arabia And Other Countries In The East, published in the Netherlands in 1776.  From my personal collection.

Why do we wish to connect with millions of let's face it, very often faceless people? If that desire isn't strange enough on its own accord, the willingness to connect is so strong we sometimes, if foolish or brave enough, expose a manifesto, if you will.  About ourselves, what we hold dear, and what we don't. Some may protest and say that's not true in their case.  Yet the non-opaque approach can offer a much overlooked and possibly undervalued property - a somewhat transparent emotional blueprint of our businesses and of ourselves within a commercial framework. My postings on various sites on the web certainly do. Sure, many individuals and corporations are cunning, and engineer only what they want you to know, but those types of bloggers or networkers will always render a blatant  "tell" when they or you least expect it.

 I blog, simply put, because I can. Not because I am good at it, have anything that is terribly original or compelling to pass  on, or impart topics of great interest to most. But let me come totally clean as to why I blog and am on social networks. Because it is expected. Yes expected. In today's world, it is not enough to advertise, go to meetings at the various chambers, have an ethical company and give excellent service. You have to blog about it too!  We are so curious and voyeuristic; we feel a sense of entitlement to command a view behind the scenes. Not content to just peek through the front door, we require access to see what's going on in the back room as well.

Arroyo Garcia petroglyph "Happy" photograph by glyphwalker 

For one of my businesses, my exposure is now totally Internet activated. I no longer do print ads, stopped all conventional advertising in general. Sure I have brochures at particular locations, but the overwhelming business I receive is from the Internet.  It is all from my targeted blogs, my site listings, my web friends whose recommendations are on the net.  If that isn't enough of a bounty, exposure from my various postings, prompted an online friend to connect me with an editor of an online magazine.  I am a regular monthly contributor to the magazine entitled "Magnify You".  www.magnifyyou.com  I enjoy being on the web, posting, reading blogs, meeting people, but I love my real time life, my friends and my social life too and therein lies a precarious balance that I have not yet perfected.

All this posting, blogging, social networking takes quite a bit of time.  It is a bit of a contradiction to me in some ways, as everyone is swimming awash in time management, too pressed for time to actually read books, not enough time with our families, our non-virtual friends. Yet most everyone wants to be able to glean something fresh and juicy from a blog.  Or write one in order to turn on the lights and open the drapes. I remember such warnings when I first lived on my own, to certainly not to do that in the evenings; as the fascination to further investigate was too hard to resist for most humans. I didn't think it to be all together true, but alas, it has been proven a million times over and is what I have learned on the social networks. And for my businesses' sake I am willing to be interchangeably voyeuristic and exhibitionist.

                          Detail from "Cave of Swimmers" at Wali Sura, Gilf Kebir. photo by Kit Constable Maxwell 

 Mill Creek 23, photo by glyphwalker

I studied petroglyphs, cave paintings and wall impressions in college and still do. Researching the various ancient sites it is evident that we have always had this fascination with ourselves and those around us and had to convey the wonderment at all costs. Gossips at heart, maybe.  The new posting sites that have evolved from the ancient ones are Facebook, Linkedin http://www.linkedin.com/in/michelleviggiano Twitter, Biznik, http://www.biznik.com/members/michelle-viggiano   The new "paintings" are with words and some as short as a single brush stroke - the tweet.

I blog mainly about my eco-responsible company because my type of business comes across a different type of scrutiny. Are they for real, are their products as effective, are they just jumping on the band wagon of all things green, etc. For me, it is a labor of love to actively change those traditional possibly negative perceptions.  I frequently give a moment of my time to include a daily visit to the following site, http://www.theanimalrescuesite.com/clickToGive/home.faces  it is part of a larger site http://www.thenonprofits.com  and click or donate in my company's name. Not because it looks good or I feel I should, rather, because it is part and parcel of my and my company's sensibilities. The icon is on my desktop so it can't be easier. I offer links on my website that I believe are helpful and stay within my areas of concern. I do have strict parameters of which types of links I will include.  As a business owner, I don't leave any of that out of the equation. So, I blog publically about what my company stands for and what is does hold supreme. I have learned from others who don't, that they are missing an opportunity to position themselves as intimately and effectively as possible.

 Here are a few links that offer a range of options and opinions on social networking as a business tool. An article depicting 25 social Media Tips from executives and others at Dell,  General Mills, Home Depot, etc offers interesting insight into social networking for big business. http://www.toprankblog.com/2009/04/social-media-marketing-tips/ 

If you prefer here is a list of green social networking sites http://planetgreen.discovery.com/work-connect/social-media-green-good6.html  and there is http://www.care2.com the largest and most comprehensive, based in Australia.

"Crowded" petroglyph photo by glyphwalker

I check the corporate temperature of other firms regularly.  I can gage if they are hot, cold, or dispassionately luke-warm.  My company and yours convey its overall mentality throughout the dense fibers of its being. Whether that is in person, practice, on paper, or on online.  I offer a thermometer to any and all who are interested in the reading. Here, take my temperature.

Original antique print of Carsten Niebuhr drawings of Egyptian hieroglypics during the Danish Expedition in 1760. From Niebuhr's Travels Through Arabia And Other Countries In The East. This one was published in The Netherlands in 1776 or it could be from identical ones published in Paris in 1779.  From my personal collection.

Here is some business social networking  in action - the photographer. "petroglyphwalker" of all the above petroglyph photographs fabricates individual ones.  He is a geologist who also has the business www.southwestpetroart.com  Check him out, his petroglyphs make great gifts and are beautifully done on a small scale. Delight a child with a gift that they can learn a great deal from - thier ancestors musings...

And while I am at it, in the true interest of being at heart with the social networking cause - please check out http://www.mcromanshades.com Michael Crum fabricates the most beautiful Roman shades and ships nationally and internationally.  Social networking in action!

Everyone wants a piranha.

Whether a professional athlete intent on a signing bonus the size of Madagascar, a victim of a vicious fender bender fixated on the 2.8 million dollar legal prescription for a tender neck or a home buyer/seller whose sole purpose on this earth at the immediate moment is to grind as many Ben Franklins as possible out of the guy on the other side of a negotiation, aggressiveness is typically the hallmark virtue in the professional representation that is sought.

The sports super agent, who we are 95% certain has a life-sized portrait of his bare chested self wearing a boa constrictor around suspiciously well tanned shoulders hanging in his posh downtown office, is universally loathed by all.  Secretly, however, we all know he’d be the only guy we’d call if we needed to make a cash withdrawal from the abundant posterior of a team owner.

The weaselly ambulance chaser with the slicked back, Grecian Formula enhanced locks is similarly unlikely to find himself on the guest lists of many Bat Mitzvahs and baby showers.  That narcissistic predator might eat the baby.  When we spill the drive-thru coffee in our laps or stumble over the “Watch Your Step!” sign at a public establishment, though, he’s the guy we call.

Amicable folks are great to have around, but when the conversation turns to business, we don’t want Mary Poppins going into battle on our behalf armed only with a spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down.  We’d rather employ the services of Dr. Jekyll to go all Mr. Hyde on the opposition and cram that spoon straight down their throats.

Easy, tiger.

There is a time to kill, and there is a time to frolic.  The problem with the constant grinder is that he often grinds himself right out of a transaction.  It is critical that you leave the other guy with some dignity at the end of a tough negotiation, lest all of your efforts collapse under the weight of the other party’s exhaustion.  After you’ve knocked the poor bloke to the ground and bloodied his nose, do the smart thing.  Extend your hand and help him up.

In practical terms, this is akin to finally saying “yes” after repeated “no’s.”  When you win on the key points, you are often in a position to make a small concession on some trivial tangential issue.  Too many times, I see lost opportunities for a clear victor to score easy diplomatic points at these junctures in the waning moments of a deal.  Want the inspection and other critical aspects of the transaction yet to come to go smoothly?  Give up something that isn’t really necessary.  Offer something minor, but unexpected.

You’ve bitten his neck on price, drank his blood on terms … time to give him a transfusion unless you want to carry his Doppelganger the rest of the way to closing.  For the record, undead weight is quite heavy.

Of course, because you are reading my blog, this advice assumes you were on the dispensing end of said treatment throughout the course of the initial negotiation.  If you were unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end, go ahead and drive a wooden stake through the SOB’s black heart.

*Originally posted at the Scottsdale Property Shop.