The Reidster

Rough Draft Final

2007-05-23T11:49:00.000-07:00

Renting to Riff-Raff

At 829 Davis Street, there aren’t any doors. No windows or walls either. The floor is littered with holes, looking as if they were designed perfectly to swallow a person to the cave-like basement below. A Harvest-Gold refrigerator is the only appliance left in the barren kitchen.
That doesn’t stop Scott Stoneburner from smiling. Stoneburner, 46, is a landlord serving the students of Kalamazoo. The house on Davis is his latest purchase, which he secured from an elderly couple in the fall of 2006 with a low offer.
“I had my eye on the house for over a year,” Stoneburner recalls. “They finally accepted my offer once they realized no one else wanted the dump.”
Originally a contractor, Stoneburner began purchasing rental houses in an effort to keep his crew busy while contracting work was slow. 829 Davis is a perfect example, as a two-man crew takes a break from refinishing concrete walls to hang some new sheets of drywall. Slowly adding houses as they become available, Stoneburner seems to be buying up the neighborhood. He currently owns 12 units, the smallest of which are 4 bedroom townhouses.
While many rental agencies and landlords have seen their units go vacant, Stoneburner has been lucky. “Most of my rentals are referrals from current tenants,” he says. “I actually care about who lives in my houses and try to make them happy.” Apparently, it pays off. Stoneburner is signing the lease on his final vacant property in the afternoon.
Down the road at 613 Davis Street, the lawn extension is littered with ratty furniture and other assorted garbage. In the street sits a black Ford Crown Victoria, unmarked but with the telling government “X” on the license plate. The tenant, a tow truck driver, is 5 months late on his rent. It’s eviction day.
“These guys destroyed the house,” Stoneburner says, as he points out repairs, ranging from small holes in the walls to the door he says was “kicked down in a drunken rage.” According to Stoneburner, renting to students can be hard, but it’s the late 20’s and 30’s crowd that really cause trouble. “A fair number of the students here have parents footing the bill,” he says. “Many send the check directly to me each month.”

(Kalamazoo College housing situation…..what is happening? Raising enrollment? More students living off campus? Future direction of on/off campus living? Creation of more dorms/on campus apartments? Have meeting scheduled with Dana Jansma Friday…)

In the fall of 2005, Kalamazoo was taken by surprise with the announcement of the Kalamazoo promise. The Promise, which would garuntee college tuition to any state school in Michigan for highschool graduates, forecasted big changes for the housing market. Described as “An economic and community development project” by Mayor Hannah Mckinney, the Kalamazoo Promise was slated to bring people back to the city from the surrounding suburbs.
It wasn’t always low income and student housing in Kalamazoo. The town was home to the Checker Automobile Company, who produced the majority of this country’s cabs for over 50 years. The Upjohn Company, which would later be succeeded to Pharmacia and then Pfizer, created thousands of jobs within the city. Gibson Instruments, most famous for their Guitars, held a factory that took up a whole city block. However, by 1981 the Gibson Company moved its headquarters and closed its Kalamazoo factory. In 1984 the Checker Company closed, leaving behind an empty factory that today is little more than a skeleton. By the late 1990’s, Pfizer was cutting jobs and outsourcing, a trend that continued well into the 21st century. People left. The city was left with was an abundance of empty housing and falling property values.While Mckinney remains optimistic about the return of families to the City of Kalamazoo, she insists that it is a long-term movement. “We’ve been seeing rising property values,” She says “It’s not going to happen overnight.” When asked if she thinks there will be sufficient housing for both students and returning families, she can’t help but laugh. “There is a huge abundance of housing in Kalamazoo, I think there should be enough for everyone.” She says with a smile.

Marketing, not Music

2007-05-16T19:15:00.000-07:00

While the piece about Jonathan Coulton never really comes out and says it, much of what holds my attention as a reader is the constant attention that is given to the common problem with B list artists, regardless of which art form they practice.
The idea of the “struggling artist” has long existed, and for the most part is proven to be true. Artists that fail to make it to the mainstream stay relatively unknown and struggle economically. Coulton, however, has found a creative way around this problem. As a result, the entire piece works in multiple ways, offering a story, problem, and solution all in one flowing work. I feel that most features of this length might get boring and old, but this works well to really engage the reader in the piece.
One major difference I noticed throughout the piece is the prevalence of relevant details. For example, the price that Coulton pays for each CD from CD baby, along with the breakdown of how he makes his income and how much he brings in. These details not only work to keep the reader interested in the piece, but also create a strong, open relationship with the character. I find this piece to be as much about how the internet is changing the world as we know it as it is about artists. As a reader I found this appealing because of the many opportunities I have seen throughout the Internet, which creates a vast marketplace for any merchant. It’s not about the music Coulton creates, but rather the market and how it is changing, something that was a welcome surprise.

"Barbeback Mountain"

2007-05-07T09:49:00.000-07:00

Wow, what a mess.

I think the subject matter here is quite intriguing and the writer definately has some talent. The piece had great speed to it, read quickly, and easily kept the reader entertained.

I guess I just don't quite understand what the goal of the piece is. After reading the piece, I was left thinking "wow, that writer really is bitter." The subject matter was of little relevance, as the reader is constantly reminded of the author's negative attitude. It really is an odd medley of subjects, which seem to conclude the author's general dislike for everything and anything.

I think that sometimes poking fun and relying on sarcasm in a piece can work quite well, but this just seemed to go overboard. Instead of agreeing with or understanding the author and his opinionis, the tone of the piece has lead me to discredit much of what the author has said. Probably not the best way to go as a writer........

Some ride motorcycles while some ride Harleys

2007-05-01T08:17:00.000-07:00

Walking into Perry Harley-Davidson, one instantly notices something very different from other motorcycle dealerships. There are no Honda’s, no Suzuki’s or Yamaha’s. Just Harleys. Tons of them. Big and small, in many different colors, but all with one thing in common: Chrome, and by the truckload.
Located at 5331 Sprinkle Rd, Perry Harley-Davidson’s 24,000 square foot facility is modern and large. Until 1999, Perry H-D was located on Portage Road, but increased business and service needs moved the company to its current 10-acre location. Comprised of a large showroom, clothing and memorabilia area, and a fully stocked parts and accessories department, Perry H-D offers the Harley enthusiast everything they could hope for under one roof. In the back, the service department offers warranty work and maintenance for the less hands-on Harley Davidson Owners.
Becoming a Harley Davidson dealer is no simple task, according to Richard Perry, the owner of Perry H-D. Unlike other power sports and automobile dealers, Harley-Davidson does not allow dealerships to sell other makes on the same premise as Harley’s are sold. Recently, facing competition from the Japanese and European companies in the sport bike category, Harley-Davidson acquired the Buell Company, also offering these sportier motorcycles on the same floors as the cruiser style Harley’s.
The advantages of picking one task and doing it well certainly show at Perry H-D. The showroom is clean and open, yet well stocked. Merchandise is clean and choices plentiful. The help in the parts department is knowledgeable and helpful, with great prices to boot. While I haven’t purchased a Harley Davidson or used the dealership for more than a few simple parts purchases, it is an experience much different than those seen at the other motorcycle dealers around town, which tend to be cramped, dirty, and outdated.
Steve Brumbaugh works in parts sales at Perry H-D has been working with Richard for longer than he can remember.
“I get paid to work with what I love all day” He tells me proudly. “And many of the guys here have it even worse than I do: You sure won’t see me riding when there is snow on the ground!”
Harley-Davidson motorcycles have long had a reputation of being relatively slow, expensive, and archaic in comparison to their competitors. Over the years, as competitors improved their products, Harley-Davidson kept many of their models much the same, making only minor changes. Today, when comparing models on paper, the Harley-Davidsons fall behind. Starting at over $7,000 for a base model Sportster and rising to $30,000 for a deluxe touring bike, H-D has seen trends of younger riders moving towards the more inexpensive Japanese models offered by makers such as Suzuki and Honda.
When asked why he chose to ride Harley Davidson rather than another brand, Brumbaugh already had his reply waiting.
“It’s a different feeling when you ride a Harley.” He reassured me. “It’s not about how much it cost or how fast it goes, it’s about what happens when you ride.”Harley-Davidson owners have long been noted for the waves they exchange as they pass each other on the road, noting an unspoken level of friendship and camaraderie.

A response to Boys Who Like Toys

2007-04-24T18:25:00.001-07:00

I think pieces like this are a lot of fun, similar in certain aspects to the one last week about the new trends in French fast-food. It shows the diversity of the market and what is possible with a little ingenuity and luck, and reminds me of the stories that were everywhere about the creators of YouTube when Google took over.
Considering the fact that these “fanboys” can make or break multi million dollar productions, I would like to see more about what they make. The article mentions that one group of writers makes a decent salary from adds on google, but there is no mention of real numbers, a surprise considering the number dropping that occurs throughout the piece.
The reference to the underperforming Grindhouse production was refreshing and pulled me back into the piece, although I had already lost much of my interest by the time I was reaching the end. It just goes on and on. I feel like there are too many examples, all of which feel very similar and not enough variation. I don’t need multiple sources of proof.
Earlier on there were a couple vivid descriptions, such as the first paragraph.

“He is the fanboy, the typically geeky 16-to-34-year-old male (though there are some fangirls) whose slavish devotion to a pop-culture subject, like a comic-book character or a video game, drives him to blog, podcast, chat, share YouTube videos, go to comic-book conventions and, once in a while, see a movie on the subject of his obsession. And he's having his way with Hollywood.”

I found this to be creative and telling. In a single sentence the author managed to paint a picture of the individuals he would talk about for the rest of the piece. Simple and effective.
Overall I find myself engaged and interested in the subject matter, but struggle to finish the piece. Something needs to change about half way through….

Anti-Fast Food in France

2007-04-18T20:01:00.000-07:00

I really enjoyed the angle that this writer took with his piece, concentrating not only on the changes in French food culture, but also the business side of things. I really loved the content of the piece.

It reminded me strongly of an article I read a little while back, which I think I originally spotted in the Economist.

http://www.latimes.com/features/lifestyle/la-et-pinkberryaug04,0,7985455.story?coll=la-home-style

It's about pinkberry, some trendy place that has become a small chain in the LA area. They have a simple, fresh menu and it seems to be booming.

I wish that the piece would have got more into depth as to what the resturant offered, including the menu, service, and prices. however, the aim throughout seemed to concentrate more about the trend of fresh and healthy food rather than the individual resturants serving it.

I personally found it very refreshing that a young entrepreneur can still have an idea, get a loan, and start a successfull small business. I think that small went a far way to show the attitude of the new fast food restaurants and why they seem to be successful over the stuffy, older resturants.

Overall the piece flowed well and I didn't want to stop half way. However, I noticed myself struggling at times to follow the story of Cojean, as it jumped around a little bit.

Other blogs

2007-04-10T20:44:00.000-07:00

I'm a gear head, and i realize most of these won't appeal to others...

http://www.autoblog.com/

http://thecarblog.com/

This is another one that I check now and again, just to make sure she's still alive. Some of you may have read the book that was composed completely of her blog essays, titled "Baghdad Burning" Written by the anonymous "river," the blog is a collection of accounts of life in Baghdad during the American Occupation.

http://www2.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=1974374527380725653

personal essay

2007-04-10T08:02:00.000-07:00

It needs work.

It's more or less what I want to say, but hardly the mood or attitude that i want to convey. I wanted to tell the story and get down everything I had to say, and I definately accomplished that. I already axed a few paragraphs that i felt were not really neccesary in a piece of this length.

Mainly I would like to concentrate on editing to keep the reader more interested, I feel as if it's easy to just stop reading this piece as it sits.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. My sister Grace and I sat in the back of our family’s Plymouth Minivan, as I did my best to consol her as she hugged her favorite stuffed animals. My dad sat in the drivers seat, sighing heavily and swearing under his breath as my mother stormed around the abandoned Elk’s Lodge parking lot. The dim glow of the Marathon gas station sign on the corner and the dash lights of the van were all that separated us from the rainy, cold fall night. What can I say, we were a happy family.
It seemed as if this sort of event happened at least monthly. My parents argued constantly for causes that were often beyond my comprehension. For some reason this type of conflict seemed to happen more often than any other and usually at the most inappropriate times. Often trouble would brew between my parents on our five hour trip to northern Michigan where we had a second home, leading to the eventual all-out parking lot brawl between my incredibly frustrated dad and my crying, out of control mom. Regardless, it always happened right in the middle of what should have been a happy, joyous event for any other family.
To me it was annoying, but at the same time I really didn’t care much. It was more a frustration for me at this point. When I was younger I would cry and beg them to stop fighting, but it was no use. As a result, I found myself becoming numb to the incessant fighting and troubles the family had a young age. I told myself “it isn’t my problem,” and looking back, in certain cases I even provoked it. I remember crying surprisingly little considering all that happened.
Grace, on the other hand, handled the situation completely different. She refused to admit that our family was in trouble and held hope that there could be reconciliation down the road at some point. As soon as they started fighting, she just wanted it to stop, which I completely understand. She knew that they fought and seemed to be ok with it, but just wanted to have no part in it. In a way, she subscribed to the school of thought saying “out of sight, out of mind.” This is not to say the way she handled the situation was any worse or better than the way I went about it, but should simply be considered an indication of how we handled the family’s problems differently.
My father and I have always gotten along great, although in a way that differs greatly from the traditional father-son relationship. I always thought of him as my best friend. I hold the utmost respect for him and he shows me the same. He has always told me I can do anything, and supports me in everything and all of the decisions I have made. He is an amazing guy and everyone loves him, from his employees and tenants to his friends and family. My mom always told me that she didn’t even consider him a father to me. She would gripe, “He doesn’t set guidelines or rules for you!” I guess in a way she was right, he didn’t set traditional guidelines for me or tell me what to do. He gave me the chance to grow and mature at my own speed. This isn’t to say that he gave me free reign. I could tell when he was disappointed in me and this meant more than any punishment or lecture ever could.
One aspect of my father and my relationship that always struck me as odd is the frequency of which he would share stories of his troubles of my mother with me. He would come to me often and share the outcome of their latest argument, often asking me, “Am I out of line here?” Although I often agreed with him and his arguments, I never meant to take sides.
I’ve never gotten along well with my mom. I understand that nearly every kid has rough times with his or her parents, but this was far more than that. We had little in common and had very different outlooks on life. One of my finest memories of her consists of her beating the rear of my car with a cast iron skillet in an attempt to break the rear window as I pulled out of the driveway. She was and continues to be a great mother, just not a person I would chose to be friends with under different circumstances. We just never “clicked.”
There has always been talk of divorce between my parents. It usually comes in the form of a threat from my mom during a heated argument, while my dad contemplates it more seriously and continuously. About twice a year there comes a time where he gets a little more serious about divorce. Three summers ago he met with an attorney. Two summers ago he met with a mediator. Last summer he did it.
My sister grace is three years younger than I and just entered her first year of college. Both my mom and dad went to see her off at the beginning of her freshman year, just as they had done for me three years earlier. They planned to drop her off at school and stay for a few days, touring Cambridge and Boston. I stayed home, keeping an eye on my dad’s small business and preparing for my upcoming move back to school. My dad left with high hopes for the weekend. When I picked him up at the airport (he flew back while my mom stayed out east for another couple of days), he was nearly speechless. What he hoped would go well had instead gone sour.
Two weeks into school I got a call from my parents, both of them on the line. After some small talk, they told me the news.
“So your dad has decided to move out and is living in his office.” Said my mom. “We want you to know that we still love you and you will always have a home.” She reassured me.
I did my best to calm her; I could tell she was on the verge of a breakdown. I told her that I understood that their separation wasn’t due to me, and that I knew they both still loved me. My dad really didn’t say much. He knew I saw it coming and didn’t need to tell me twice.
It’s something that was inevitable; the only real question was when. There was such constant talk of divorce, yet nothing ever seemed to happen. Once my sister went to school, I think my dad saw it as there being nothing left between him and my mom. I’m not bitter about it. I think in the end everyone can be happier in the end. It simply wasn’t working for them or for anyone else.
The saddest part of all? It’s still not over. Remind me not to get married.

2007-04-01T18:12:00.000-07:00

This article appealed to me because the story reminded me much of the dynamic at my household as a child. It seemed as if it were a weekly affair where my dad would come home, open the garage door, and find that his parking space was now occupied by my mom's newest "treasures" that she found at the local thrift store or garage sales.

Saturday mornings she would always try to drag me away from the cartoons I was intently watching with my sister and convince us to join her. She always won too, simply explaining that I was far too young to stay at home alone. We would always return home, back of the minivan packed full of stuff that to this day I lovingly refer to as "crap," and jam it into one of many storage areas around the house.

The saddest part of all of it? I didn't grow up in a simple suburban neighborhood, but rather on a 10 acre lot a little bit in the country. We had a house. A garage. Two barns. And yet they all overflowed. My mom always had a grand plan for this stuff, dreaming of how she would refinish and restore the more valuable pieces, eventually returning them to the consignment shop to make a profit. Yeah, that never happened. She just hoarded the junk instead.

A couple of weeks ago she was talking about looking for a new house and possibly moving into town. I think we both secretly know that's never going to happen, but I'll let her keep that dream alive for just a little bit longer.

At first the author only reveals what she wants those in her life to see, the persimmon as a valuable, tasty, healthy fruit. Nothing more, nothing less. However, as the piece reaches its end, it becomes clear that there is more of a passion behind the persimmon collection than she would like to let on. This turning point really gave a sense of how personal this writing really was, as she is admitting to the reader what she can't quite seem to admit to herself or others in real life.

Although the woman in the article has a special passion for items very different than those I was part of collecting as a child, her writing just seemed to remind me that our cultures really aren't that different at all. She collected Persimmons, and my mother collected junk. Maybe it's just a Mom thing, who knows.

Reid

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/01/magazine/01funnyhumor.t.html