I spent yesterday in a crowded convention center with thousands of people united by one purpose: saving their homes. NACA, a national nonprofit dedicated to modifying mortgages and saving homeowners from the big, scary teeth of loan sharks, hit Las Vegas this past weekend. Sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair all day with all these people was one of the weirdest, most surreal experiences of my life.
First, let me explain how it all started, both my trip there and NACA. I accompanied my boyfriend who, for the record, is both current on his mortgage payments and can afford them, but would like to have them reduced nonetheless. The organization was started in the early 90s to use unionist tactics to confront lenders who provided sub-prime mortgages. Today, NACA has waged relationships with many lending companies. Its workers calculate a fair and affordable mortgage rate on an individual basis and negotiate directly with the lenders, who will then modify the conditions of the mortgage, or else. Or else face harassment by the organization, NACA members or elected officials.
Anyway, we arrived at Las Vegas Convention Center sometime around one on Monday, unsure what to expect. We'd heard on the news that the convention, called the "Save the Dream Tour," had been highly attended and quite successful all weekend long.
First, we were herded into a room with perhaps a hundred other individuals to complete an "orientation." This orientation basically acted as a weed-out for people who don't qualify for NACA's help, ie, people who flipped houses commercially, the unemployed. From here, our entire group was herded into the main conference center to sit in a block of metal chairs. Approximately six other groups like ours sat in the center, in line before us. Within two hours, the first of those other groups was led to the other side of the partition where the loan counselors and lenders sat. We were unable to see at this point what went on over there.
I have waited in many lines throughout my life. I've waited in the notorious lines at Disney World. I've waited in line to buy textbooks at the beginning of each semester while I was in college. I've waited in lines for sold-out concerts at huge venues. I had no idea, however, what sort of line I had stepped into on Monday. Luckily. If I, or any other person there, had any idea, we probably would have left.
Everyone sat there, in uncomfortable chairs, with relatively little information, for hours, for the mere hope of getting a more affordable mortgage. Tales circulated of people who'd had their monthly payments cut in half, their interest rates reduced to 2.5%. But who were these people? Friends of friends? The Boogey Man? Simple urban legends?
We had brought a magazine, water, a book, pistachios and a Cliff bar. In this monstrous facility, all we really had to do was wait. The stories we overheard from other people waiting, while definitely sad, drove us crazy. I heard about layoffs. I heard about grimy loans. I heard about serious illnesses and injuries. Everyone had their story. Everyone seemed to want to be the one with the worst case, the one with the most problems and the most debt.
It was so easy for me to pass judgement. I have to admit that. For instance, there was one young woman sitting a few rows behind me who had a $2000 purse and implants. I began to think, "If you couldn't afford your house, why did you buy these luxuries?" I was automatically prone to think there was something wrong with all of these people. Why did they take out loans they couldn't really afford? But in reality, I didn't know anything about any of them and, if tens of thousands of people in Vegas are in this spot, and there are enough people countrywide to warrant a tour, something is wrong with the system, not the individuals.
The worst part of waiting was knowing that many people scammed their way forward in the line. I saw dozens of people, who began in our group, somehow get hours ahead of us. Normally, my philosophy is, if you're smart enough to cheat, go for it. But in this case, they were significantly hurting others to get their way. Again, those of us who decided to follow the rules had little recourse. We were at mercy to NACA and were just grateful to be there.
After eight hours, our group finally got to cross the threshold into the space behind the partition. What we saw once we got there were the very same six group that were initially before us in the first room. Essentially, in eight hours, we'd moved nowhere. In any other situation, such a large group of people would have revolted, probably only after a few hours. But the chance to save hundreds of dollars a month was enough to pacify everyone.
Three hours later, we were finally able to see a loan counselor named Velvet. After plugging in my boyfriend's monthly earnings, monthly spending, and applying a $200 buffer, Velvet calculated what an affordable monthly mortgage would be. According to her calculations, his lender should be able to chop a few hundreds dollars off his monthly payment. Because it was one in the morning at his point, and because all the lender reps had gone home, NACA faxed their recommendations straight to the lenders. My boyfriend's lender wasn't there to begin with, so we didn't miss anything by getting through the line so late.
Now all there is to do is wait. NACA says we should receive an answer from his lender within a few weeks.
After my last blog post, people complained I had stopped being funny and/or didn't proofread before I posted. Frankly, I don't care. This blog is the one place in my life where thoughts flow freely.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Not so much blogging as bitching.
Enough people vent in our society that I don't really think I should be one to add to it. Talking heads vent on news programs, women vent to loudly on their cellphones at the grocery store, and, when I was teaching, the teacher's lounge could have been called the bitching lounge with no exaggeration. All that being said, I'm about to vent myself.
You see, I find myself really annoyed tonight. I guess you could say, I'm annoyed by one thing that is a constant in our world: change. I don't mean I'm bothered by changing opinions or new technology like some idiotic neo-con. I'm annoyed by one specific type of change. I don't think it has a name yet, or an abridged descriptor that likens itself to a blog, so I'm going to invent a name for it now for the sake of writing. The type of change that annoys me most (and has me in a tizzy tonight) I am going to call: Affected Personality-Fondness Drift (APFD).
Now for the definition. APFD is a condition that affects old friends and relatives you haven't seen for a while, or people might see everyday. It affects your closest companion, often people you started out really respecting and enjoying rounds of beer with when you felt you couldn't talk to anyone else. They live their lives as these admirable, likable people for days, weeks, years, decades, and then The Drift happens. The Drift can be caused by many factors, though there are commons ones you might recognize. The Drift can be a new significant other, a change of region, or a new circle of friends (especially when the person with APFD is a teen). The Drift can be a new religion (though religion can also be a symptom of APFD) or a change in careers. No matter how long it takes between when the subject first contracts APFD until APFD is full-blown and mind-blowing, those around the person with APFD often describe the onset of the change as "sudden." Suddenly, the person likes things he or she detested before. For example, someone who once wore hemp and played hacky sack in the quad between classes can now be found on Monday night at some trendy sports bar watching football, something that same person used to describe as "barbaric." The distinguishing factor between APFD and a simple change of taste is that, in cases of APFD, the person's likes change for the worst, the person seems to de-evolve, and, when questioned, the person offers no explanation and insists "I always liked country. It's been my favorite music since I was a kid."
Ironically, the thing that made we want to write this blog was reading an old friend's blog-- a friend who my friends and I have been saying for a few years has APFD. We didn't call it that, of course, but list the symptoms above and mourn the loss of him to this day.
I was about to send him a link to a photo I thought he might appreciate, but when I went to look up his email on his Facebook page, I noticed he had a blog and went to it, curiously. Almost immediately, I felt like I couldn't possibly extend contact to this person, even though he once used to be one of my closest friends. Now, he is a stranger, more acutely than those I've simply lost touch with. You see, when I was young, I was lucky enough for a year or two to have waged some of the closest friendship I will ever have--friends of the type I will never have to feel ashamed or shy in front of, the types of friendships you can only make before a certain age or during a terrible tragedy such as sickness or battle. Perhaps some people reading this blog will know the guy I describe. Perhaps he will read this blog himself, but I doubt it. I doubt his new persona sits around reading the blogs of old friends.
When we knew him, he was humorous and childlike. He wanted to commit to nothing, and committed to everything at the same time, because that is what he thought you were supposed to do as you got older. He loved to talk about sex and make horribly off-color jokes when he met people for the first time. He wanted an exotic house on the water. He had never been on a plane. He was irreverent and cried easily in the darkness of a movie theater.
Sometime during his formative years, he had a mental breakdown. I'm sorry to use that kind of dramatic language in this atmosphere, but that's what it was. He no longer knew what was what. He didn't know what he wanted to do or where he was going. He began to drink a lot. He dated strings of ridiculously inappropriate women. He became a different person. He couldn't have a conversation with any of us without some foreign pretense that I don't even know how to describe. He became obsessed with seemingly random things: car engines, loofahs.
When he met his current wife, he was still half himself, I think. I remember talking to him on the phone and hearing him tell me he had cut back his drinking to impress her; she was very religious. He suddenly became religious. He went to bible study with her, stopped drinking completely, and began having whole conversations about God. When he wasn't talking about God, he still brought up God, fitting religion into every conversation, as if he has something to prove. He said that worst things that he could say about himself before we could say them. In his blog he described himself as "not one to get emotional." He cried more than I ever did during that time, often about almost anything. He always wanted to be something outspoken, like a lawyer or a speech writer. Now he's an artist of sorts, capturing everything with a silent viewpoint. He got married after a few months. That he always wanted, but he says he loves this wife he barely knows.
I am happy he seems to think he's happy, but I wonder how long he'll be able to suppress the true side of himself, his essence. After all, he had a breakdown once, a complete change of personality. I feel sorry for his wife and friends, and how they will feel when he can't keep it up any longer. Or maybe he'll keep it up forever, and I should feel sorry for him.
You see, I find myself really annoyed tonight. I guess you could say, I'm annoyed by one thing that is a constant in our world: change. I don't mean I'm bothered by changing opinions or new technology like some idiotic neo-con. I'm annoyed by one specific type of change. I don't think it has a name yet, or an abridged descriptor that likens itself to a blog, so I'm going to invent a name for it now for the sake of writing. The type of change that annoys me most (and has me in a tizzy tonight) I am going to call: Affected Personality-Fondness Drift (APFD).
Now for the definition. APFD is a condition that affects old friends and relatives you haven't seen for a while, or people might see everyday. It affects your closest companion, often people you started out really respecting and enjoying rounds of beer with when you felt you couldn't talk to anyone else. They live their lives as these admirable, likable people for days, weeks, years, decades, and then The Drift happens. The Drift can be caused by many factors, though there are commons ones you might recognize. The Drift can be a new significant other, a change of region, or a new circle of friends (especially when the person with APFD is a teen). The Drift can be a new religion (though religion can also be a symptom of APFD) or a change in careers. No matter how long it takes between when the subject first contracts APFD until APFD is full-blown and mind-blowing, those around the person with APFD often describe the onset of the change as "sudden." Suddenly, the person likes things he or she detested before. For example, someone who once wore hemp and played hacky sack in the quad between classes can now be found on Monday night at some trendy sports bar watching football, something that same person used to describe as "barbaric." The distinguishing factor between APFD and a simple change of taste is that, in cases of APFD, the person's likes change for the worst, the person seems to de-evolve, and, when questioned, the person offers no explanation and insists "I always liked country. It's been my favorite music since I was a kid."
Ironically, the thing that made we want to write this blog was reading an old friend's blog-- a friend who my friends and I have been saying for a few years has APFD. We didn't call it that, of course, but list the symptoms above and mourn the loss of him to this day.
I was about to send him a link to a photo I thought he might appreciate, but when I went to look up his email on his Facebook page, I noticed he had a blog and went to it, curiously. Almost immediately, I felt like I couldn't possibly extend contact to this person, even though he once used to be one of my closest friends. Now, he is a stranger, more acutely than those I've simply lost touch with. You see, when I was young, I was lucky enough for a year or two to have waged some of the closest friendship I will ever have--friends of the type I will never have to feel ashamed or shy in front of, the types of friendships you can only make before a certain age or during a terrible tragedy such as sickness or battle. Perhaps some people reading this blog will know the guy I describe. Perhaps he will read this blog himself, but I doubt it. I doubt his new persona sits around reading the blogs of old friends.
When we knew him, he was humorous and childlike. He wanted to commit to nothing, and committed to everything at the same time, because that is what he thought you were supposed to do as you got older. He loved to talk about sex and make horribly off-color jokes when he met people for the first time. He wanted an exotic house on the water. He had never been on a plane. He was irreverent and cried easily in the darkness of a movie theater.
Sometime during his formative years, he had a mental breakdown. I'm sorry to use that kind of dramatic language in this atmosphere, but that's what it was. He no longer knew what was what. He didn't know what he wanted to do or where he was going. He began to drink a lot. He dated strings of ridiculously inappropriate women. He became a different person. He couldn't have a conversation with any of us without some foreign pretense that I don't even know how to describe. He became obsessed with seemingly random things: car engines, loofahs.
When he met his current wife, he was still half himself, I think. I remember talking to him on the phone and hearing him tell me he had cut back his drinking to impress her; she was very religious. He suddenly became religious. He went to bible study with her, stopped drinking completely, and began having whole conversations about God. When he wasn't talking about God, he still brought up God, fitting religion into every conversation, as if he has something to prove. He said that worst things that he could say about himself before we could say them. In his blog he described himself as "not one to get emotional." He cried more than I ever did during that time, often about almost anything. He always wanted to be something outspoken, like a lawyer or a speech writer. Now he's an artist of sorts, capturing everything with a silent viewpoint. He got married after a few months. That he always wanted, but he says he loves this wife he barely knows.
I am happy he seems to think he's happy, but I wonder how long he'll be able to suppress the true side of himself, his essence. After all, he had a breakdown once, a complete change of personality. I feel sorry for his wife and friends, and how they will feel when he can't keep it up any longer. Or maybe he'll keep it up forever, and I should feel sorry for him.
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