Well, I've got to run to keep from hidin'
And I'm bound to keep on ridin'
And I've got one more silver dollar
But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no
Not gonna let 'em catch the midnight rider

-The Allman Brothers Band

After being countered on two offers on houses, I get the sense that some people live lives of cognitive dissonance—or at least those with properties that have languished on the market.

In every deal, I recognize the seller as a rational economic actor; they want that fat cash. Maximize, baby, yeah! That said, they have to work within the context of other actors who, while in another age would just grab a legion with spears and snag the place for FREE...eh, minus a limb or two. Plant that flag and sing "everybody was dancin' in the moonlight!" Or hobble. We have since disassociated ourselves from that equally valid approach to real estate. I suspect we did this near the same time when our war dogs became cuddle cuties. And thus we put our sword and shield down. Today, through the trade of a syruped McGriddle for that pickled Chick-fil-A, we attempt to reach that choice, sizzlin' steak equilibrium. That said, have I found sellers to operate out of their economic self-interests?

When an offer comes in, a seller has all the power. All that sweet, sweet cash is theirs! With just a flick of the pen, or in these days, a finger twitch, and "all of your wildest dreams will come true." As a buyer, I haven't been a part of one of those hot properties. Like spotting a classic muscle car rumbling down the street: there it is, there it goes. Now, as a seller, I served up something that sold before it hit the table! So far, the only properties I have dealt with are literally gathering dust: one at 100 days on the market, the other beyond 40. Clearly, the market isn't interested in these properties at their price points.

In that context, I'd think the seller would lift that mighty pen to the heavens and exclaim, "By the power of Crye-Leike...I have the power!"

But, they don't do that.

In both situations, not only were the properties pushing against their shelf life, but the sellers had left: one in an RV, the other moved out of town. A sell was not just a theoretical thing for 'em as they carried on their day-to-day there; no, they HAVE to cut ties. Slowly succumbing to entropy, those houses are just a homesick sniff away from squatters.

In our first scenario, we naively offered full listing and asked for 3% closing. They countered.

In the second offering, we low-balled purposely with $50K less, because it was stale flapjacks in a hotter location. There were more reasons than I can actually recall for this:

• Apparent extensive mold damage on the master ceiling;
• Old leaks on the ceiling throughout the house;
• Poor lighting;
• In dire need of paint or scrubbing throughout the premises (add to kid designs coming through the paint);
• A custom, plyboard cabinetry in the main bathroom that couldn't quite make ends meet;
• Termite damage in an optimistically named structure that was a shed;
• A second shed composed of metal that penciled in an appointment with my reciprocating saw;
• Some carpet had to be replaced (if not all);
• Two burners were out on the stove;
• Mysterious pooling of water in the garage;
• A "handyman special" master bathroom.

Finally, the man's workbench was rotted in the garage—I know all what I need to know about both a place and a man's life from his workbench in whatever way that applied: from his pulpit to his computer station.

Nevertheless, we submitted an offer with a certain optimism that we could build equity as opposed to playing catch up. In my past 18 addresses that span back to 2004, I haven't lived in a place that BAD...and that includes my Anchorage spot when I literally had my neighbor's WATERFALL crash down on my dining table right before our Friday night dinner! But I could make this place work. Taking that $50K off seemed sensible and that was me being pre-negotiable as I really thought $70K was realistic. Who was I competing with?

But the counter was $10K off with some new "As Is" weeds that sprung up overnight. Yeah, like I'm gonna shell out full price for a half-eaten Twinkie left out in a park. No thanks; I don't negotiate. "Break the wrist, walk away." It's a target-rich environment out there with the threat of a recession looming on the horizon.

"People can get a cheeseburger anywhere, okay? They come to Chotchkie's for the atmosphere and the attitude. Okay? That's what the flair's about. It's about fun."

Imbued by the scant reminders of the last day's light, I pushed past the iron gate. Its resistant screeches broke the emptiness of the cold air. Those worn hinges spoke to an earlier time of life and vigor, of newness and discovery. Crossing its threshold, I saw the broken archway, the dilapidated vestibule and a desiccated fountain in the foyer. From its perch high above peering far below, a raven crowed for my unanticipated arrival.

I was on Facebook.

I thought, "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I just ate a bad batch of bacon on that day. Maybe..."

What I saw was...nothing. Oh, what I saw was something. It's just the sort of something that's nothing—just a computer-generated commentary on my Internet, a mired mirror of my malaise, albeit one that lacked my geek endeavors.

What of my friends? I was wholly convinced there would be something replete with vitality—look at all the content I've put to paper since my departure in these past few days. I was sure they would have something.

They were entombed on Facebook. My steps stuttered a path past tomb effigies—one after another. They were...not there. Perhaps Facebook analytics hid them away from me as I approached. As I came upon each frozen-in-time, concrete cast, there was nothing new. It was a forceful reminder of a friend forever at 15.

I hurried on through "the graveyard on a wicked winter's eve and (I was) wonderin' why a man of faith (was) whistlin' nervously. And (I held my) heart 'cause I finally realized, hell, the devil ain't in the darkness, he's a'rattlin' 'round inside."

Casting The Chase aside, I exited that iron gate I travailed so many times before so many years ago. A hollow clang echoed into the night as a ringing reminder of everything that once was.

Rumbling for more in its idleness, an old '79 Ford truck was parked on a forgotten stretch of gravel as its cassette deck played on: "Let's live like we're alive"..."live like you were dying."

Before the dawn's light of yesterday, I penned something, well, I can confidently express that the post wrote itself—it just borrowed my fingers. Simply magnificent! It was my 2023 chef d'oeuvre. I interwove and underlined Scripture with highlights of my own life. I cast a light to the condition common to man. Brilliant! And my connection with carbohydrates and tooth decay to sin—well, it is unparalleled to anything I put to paper this year.

I had a wonderful rough draft in hand. Unfortunately...well, I got distracted. I was setting up a dev environment on Mac to see how this draft would shine. And, something went all cockeyed on me. I figured as this Mac was just wiped, just one more time through the installation circle wouldn't hurt...

And in a couple of keystrokes later, digitally obliterated was a writing that...

Just so happened to be
The best (post) in the world,
It was the best (post) in the world.

(Eh, sometimes my inner Weird Al takes over)

I nearly went back to Google. I did. You lose something and you wonder how you got it so wrong. "Bill, you are no longer a schoolboy," I lamented. "You don't just simply lose your work!"

It got me thinking: I lost it because I just assumed it was saved in the cloud. In time, we all have that expectation, that our Big Brother is ever benevolent. Our culture's take on personal responsibility is eroding with each passing year. It is always somebody else's fault.

And perhaps an argument can be made that Big Tech's influence on society shuns personal responsibility. They tell us what we should think. They tell us the shibboleths of how we can sit at the cool kids' table. They track all of our minutiae and answer all of our questions. We don't have to think, our Big Brother will let us know what we should think. We have all these wonderful tools at our fingertips, but at what cost?

I wrote a list of things that I like from Google:

• Calendar
• Tasks
• YouTube Channel Notifications
• Google Drive / Backups / file sharing / versioning
• Docs and Sheets
• Ease of moving files among my computers
• Bookmarks sync
• Phone integration
• Storehouse of my music

Sure, there is a lot more that I can identify that Google provides for its account holders, but these are significant for me.

And yet, I have some deep questions to consider over my freshly ground cup of coffee:

1. What if I develop an awareness for the calendar and the things I gotta do today?

2. What if my phone is just a way to talk to me?

3. What if I am the one responsible over the things in my life?

4. Which father's voice do I hear? Does Google bring me closer to my home with my brother, Jesus, or does it promote those who hate my brother?

And while these are good considerations and quite honestly could stand on their own, I wonder if this comes off more like a modern Amish take? Instead of getting stuck with 19th-century tech, am I just updating that to the 1990s?

I recognize that I gotta answer questions that neither my earthly Dad nor all of those who share our blood before us had to answer. And if it was just the tech...well, it's never been just about the tech. Case in point, we literally had Nazis build the American space program. What ideology makes that?

God's Word is timeless. There's nothing new is under the sun. We continue to have the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes and the pride of life. Again, here's 1 Jn 2:15-17 for emphasis:

Do not love the world or the things that belong to the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in him. For everything that belongs to the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride in one's lifestyle—is not from the Father, but is from the world. And the world with its lust is passing away, but the one who does God's will remains forever.

We gotta be a champion of wisdom. Clearly, something like electricity or cloud space—that's all pretty neutral stuff. But that's never been the problem. It is when Google promotes things that should not be! But, if I levy that charge against them and shun further interaction, then it is not a matter of being "of the world," I can't even be "in" it! There's no escape unless I push aside some bats for "we know that we are from God, and the whole world lies in the power of the evil one. (1 John 5:19)"

Now, on the politics side, I don't buy into the front-facing facade of the wealthy's politics. That veneer serves their own economic self-interests. When "following God" proved to be profitable, our world was bent toward that end. And you got some really good schools out of it like Yale! The same can be said for those from my time at the Mug: social optimization. It wasn't about loving Jesus for some of them. And as the Mug is now a coffee distributor...still, God used the Mug for His purposes. And for me, yeah, I was higher up the optimized social ladder before the Mug in the way the world counts rungs, but I was a fool. An utter fool.

So when I see Google's little graphic of the day promoting some backwater inventor of mudpaste for the teeth, I recognize it for what it is. "Money, please!"

And again, I gotta answer questions my forefathers never answered...but did. God's principles are timeless. They began in the Old Testament and are revealed in the New. Jesus came to not abolish the Law, but to fulfill it (Matthew 5:17). That said, seeing Google through the lens of loving God and loving my neighbor, what do I do? While my Han Solo approach to life served me when I was single, now that I'm married with kids, I do what I can to put them in the best position. And it seems like using the tools of today do that very thing. And so do I put more emphasis on the management of processes than the labor thereof?

Perhaps, I ought to lay aside all of my vexation. I'm reminded of 2 Timothy 1:7

For God has not given us a spirit of fearfulness, but one of power, love, and sound judgment.

Paul goes further, highlighting in verses 9 and 10:

He has saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works, but according to His own purpose and grace, which was given to us in Christ Jesus before time began.

This has now been made evident through the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus, who has abolished death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel.

When I get rattled, these words comfort me like a blazing fire that rails against the darkness of the night. I am adopted; I am chosen. God saved me from discontentment, despair, hopelessness, brokenness, the entropy of this life and Hell beyond. And He's given me eternal life—for FREE. Immortality WITH a rockin' buffet? Just wait 'til you check out the ice cream bar—a Niagara Falls of caramel praline! Hey, THAT's a good deal! For now, He slaps this sheep silly when I start wandering toward the cliff of others' destruction.

I can roll with that. Welcome back, Google.