Elements – Bali Edition

This is what you would call an architecture of reverence.

Everywhere in Bali, from big to small, you’ll see little totems of reverence, from shrines, statues, to temples.  And this being an island, often the object of that reverence is water.

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I don’t know if you can call this ‘worship of a god’ as some people would label it.  That term sounds too much like it stems from a monotheistic, jealous-god-type religion.  Here, the shrines are subtle.  Women wake up early in the morning to fill it with offerings, in a natural, respectful way, not in a cowering, bow-before-my-wrath-type god.

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Townspeople come out and conduct a ceremony before the water to ask it for its blessing.

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Temples are placed on rocks in the middle of the ocean, accessible only during low tide.

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Small shrines are everywhere.

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There’s something in the Hindu faith that appeals to me, in these kinds of gestures and rituals as a way to express your respect for something.

And there’s something doubly more appealing about these gestures of respect for the ocean.

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As surfers, we enter and exit the waves only by the grace of the ocean, which is indifferent to our wishes, desires, hopes.  Sometimes the ocean feels like a wild vengeful spirit, sometimes it feels playful.  Stay out in the water long enough, bobbing on the waves, and the ocean will make you feel part of it, the undulations returning you and your mind to something fundamental, grounded, and of the world.

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To me these shrines are appropriate, whatever your faith.  This is the right way to regard the ocean, which has the power to take away your life at any time.  Reverence, and gratitude.

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A Real Estate Career: Lessons Learned (2006-2008)

Background: before I graduated from Penn, I was fooling around with searches on Google, which was this new search engine that my gf (at the time) turned me on to.  Before that, I was a Yahoo! guy.

On Google, I was typing in any combination of terms I could think of, that would lead to job openings that I thought were a fit.

As you might have figured out by now, I basically failed the on-campus recruiting system process, with 0 interviews and 0 prospects.  The reasons why are a subject for another and much longer post.  So I was on my own.

Using search terms like ‘analyst’ or ‘research analyst’ or ‘economic research’, I randomly stumbled on various consulting companies, think tanks, and research shops.

The particular search terms I used also led me to a company somewhat boringly called Economics Research Associates.  Despite the dry name, ERA was a theme park, resort, and casino real estate consulting company.  They worked worldwide in exotic locations.

It looked exactly like my type of company!  So I applied.

And this is nothing but a story of persistence.  At the time, I was told there were no positions available, but over the next two years I kept in touch.

Sometimes I called them to let them know I was still interested and had “built some skills” [lol].

And other times they called me.  One time a partner called me when I was in a car with a date and I had to drive erratically around and ignore her while doing an impromptu interview.  By the end, I was sweating profusely and not surprisingly, the date did not go well.  Struggles.

Midway through the summer of 2006, a partner of the firm called me and offered me an interview.  The interview led to a job offer.  I said I would think about it (ha!), and “accepted” a week later.

On the first week of the job, they put me in a business class seat and flew me to attend a presentation in Asia; at this presentation, the governor of a large province declared that he wanted to build an F-1 track, a few casino resorts, two theme parks, and twenty-thousand hotel rooms.  Actually, he wanted more than that, and said that the original plans were too small.

So…I had entered the peak bubble zone.

Now to understand what that was all about, you have to understand what ERA did.  ERA was a staid old consulting firm with partners who were in their 50s to 70s.

ERA was started by the original economic consultant to Walt Disney when he built Disneyland in 1955, and for the next 50 years, the firm was the official consultant of choice to any developer, government, or operator who wanted to build or expand leisure real estate operations.

Our job was to validate the financials and make sure the projects would work.  To perform feasibility studies.

That meant that over the next two years, I sat in a clearinghouse of insane real estate ideas.  Again, this was peak bubble.  This meant that every week, we would be bombarded with plans, sketches, and visions of any conceivable leisure entertainment land use you could think of.

If you remember back to this time, this is when Dubai was announcing a new ludicrous project every few weeks, from the Palm and World Islands, to the tallest tower in the world, to malls larger than cities, and mega theme parks larger than Disney World.

But what is less known, is that it wasn’t only Dubai back then.  It was everywhere, from Iceland to Cambodia, Korea, Mississippi, Spain, Cabo, Kazakhstan, Russia, India, and everywhere in between.

Everywhere but China.  China’s time would come after the financial crisis.

I saw drawings of 100 square mile theme parks, sphere-shaped casinos floating in water, and plans for assault rifle-themed or guitar-shaped theme parks.  I saw 100-story buildings in frontier market cities, biofuel farms, and resorts on deserted islands in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.  Every month, someone out of our Europe/Middle East office would send a Powerpoint deck full of pictures for projects in Dubai, with question marks and exclamation points and icons of oil barrels next to them.  At the risk of this sounding like a Ginsburgian “Howl”, let’s stop here.  But you get the idea.

I often think about why there was such a theme park craze during this time.  It seemed like any real estate developer or government was planning one.  I can only posit that it’s because every place in the world had borrowed the Dubai philosophy, which had borrowed it from Las Vegas – build it and they will come.

Before, I mentioned that the Marcus & Millichap San Diego presentation from 2004 should be enshrined somewhere in the Historical Annals.

Equally, any theme park, attraction, or real estate development presentation from this period should also be nominated for the canon.

I shuffled and sat through countless numbers of these: presentations featuring glossy color renderings of buildings that defied physics, and video fly-throughs set to cinematic soundtracks, all meant to hypnotize the viewer into submission; i.e. parting ways with their money.  If you can find them, I recommend sampling the 2007 vintage, which was a particularly ludicrous year.

According to my humble estimate, the total amount of mirages projects being proposed in this manner, coming through our doors alone, totaled more than $100 billion.  Just in Korea, where I was flying almost every month, more theme park projects were being proposed than existed in Orlando.

All this dreaming wasn’t free.  The cost for our services was in the six-figure USD range, so people were dedicating real resources to these projects.  And where was the money coming from?

Who knows.  It was like a spigot in the sky was turned on and the whole world was drinking from it.

Which brings me to the first thing I learned, which was a reinforcement of what I’d been learning since Marcus & Millichap.  Which is that once in a while, the world goes mad.  Actually, the world is probably always insane, and it’s your ability to recognize the lunacy that ebbs and flows.

Also, that there’s no one really in charge.  You think the adults are in charge, but they’re not, they’re nowhere to be found.  No one knows anything.

When I did the analysis for these projects, most of them simply couldn’t work.  It was impossible, unless you extrapolated out economic growth of 10% indefinitely, or you assumed population growth would double, or similar types of leaps of faith.

But, clients simply refused to believe us.  Entire teams of developers had bought into the notion that their fantastic visions were valid, and that they were going to make spectacular sums of money from it.  They had dug in already.  They had hired teams of analysts and drivers, rented out expensive office space, and already spent millions of dollars on designs and licenses and studies.  This is when I truly saw the fallacy of sunk costs at work.

So sometimes clients received our reports and turned it into a negotiation session.  Because they were going to present the report to the government and investors, they needed to juice the numbers past our single-digit return figures.

And it was during this time I realized the truths about Excel that I wrote about in the previous post.  Because they were being used on me.

All clients in some way would argue with us, but some more than others.  One client in particular, in response to our report, sent back a fifty sheet Excel workbook that had reverse-engineered the logic from the study, and plugged in so many variables and cross-linked assumptions that it took me a day to figure out that what they were really trying to say was: the project would make money in the 20%+ range, unlevered, because it would sell out enough villas and golf course memberships in the middle of nowhere, to fund a billion dollars worth of construction costs.

From the outside in, you could see the lunacy.

But maybe from the inside, it’s hard to just reel it all back in, isn’t it?  More on this later.

Also, again, money: money amplifies, it buffers, it can shield and hide a lot of things.  And during a bubble time, money expands like a balloon into cracks and allows you to ignore reality.

Everyone is making extravagant claims, and money allows you to delay the moment of truth.  Another thing I learned related to this.  Times like those breed a lot of crooks and swindlers.  But you don’t know who they are, because during bubbles they can keep financing their schemes and extravagant claims.  As Warren Buffett says about the tide and that only when it goes out can you see who is swimming naked.

It’s only when the bubble pops that you see it clearly.  Anyway, two of my clients from this time went to jail.

Don’t get me wrong.  I think more clients than that went to jail or got in trouble in their home countries.  But these are the only two I interacted with.

I think the common thread between them was that they were both good talkers.  Good talkers and sellers sometimes start believing their own…exaggerations.

Having interacted with both of them for extended periods of time, I don’t think either set out to commit crimes.  But when you start talking about visions that are outside your reach, and money is widely available, things happen.

Your exaggerations spawn fractally, and so do your promises.  It slowly creeps into the future, first one year, then five years, then ten years.  Your sums grow from 5%, 10%, to 50%.

In your own enthusiasm, hallucinating from your IV drip of capital, you start making promises you want to fulfill.  Not promises that you know you can.  It’s a fine line.

After all, what is a Ponzi scheme but an infinite daisy chain of claims that stretch far into the future?  It’s sustained by nothing else than belief, and sold by sellers who can persuasively sell others on their visions of the infinite future.  And cheap money delays and delays.  That’s one of its primary characteristics.

And that’s all I can say about that.

Personally though, about two years into the job, I hit a wall.  The work was not making sense and I was getting metaphysically anxious.

Beginning in 2008, I could see stirrings of economic fallout.  Bear Stearns had failed, and some of the economic news I’d been reading about mortgage brokers made me uneasy.  I had no idea what was going to happen, but I couldn’t help but think that this stuff was not going to last.

It’s hard to express my sentiments during that time.  I keep writing this, don’t I?  In 2007, it seemed like we were having an End of World Party.  Then in 2008, we started seeing the fault lines.

Simultaneously, ERA was getting acquired.  Talks for it started in 2007, and rumors were circulating about the implications.  Mostly about the bad implications, like restrictions and new evil overlords.

So during the summer of 2008, exactly two years after I began, I made the decision to leave and go independent with some partners.

I didn’t know that in the week I quit, Lehman would go under.  Sigh.  We’ll continue with that in the next installment.

To close this out though, let’s talk about what happened to the company, because I learned a lot from it.

After ERA was taken over at a high multiple, and the financial crisis happened, 29 out of 30 partners either quit or were fired.  The once-proud, established firm then just became a carcass of its former self within 2 years.

From the outside, I could see it disintegrating in slow motion.  Inexorably, but still happening.

Honestly, I was quite surprised when I left, and no one else left with me.  This is not me applying 20/20 hindsight.  You could see that 90% of our work was for clients who were chasing clouds.  You could see that there were cracks appearing in the real estate markets, everywhere in the world.

I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I didn’t want to see what happened, so I left.

A few years later, I worked with an older investor named Larry who mused, often, that companies are hard to kill.  It’s hard to kill a company, he would say, shaking his head, as he talked about his failed businesses.  When he said this, I would always think of ERA.

I left because I thought the company would blow up.  But it didn’t.  It took a while. a year or two, before it all fell apart.  Companies are groups of people, and groups of people who are not nomads don’t just pick up and leave overnight.  Even when from the outside it looked like there was no way this company could survive the Lehman fail and the resulting financial crisis, people still hung in there.

From the outside, it looked like people were huddled.  Maybe out of fear.  Maybe because this is all they knew, and it was a family.  Maybe because from the inside, there was a sense of comfort in seeing that the same people in familiar surroundings.  In peoples’ heart of hearts, maybe they knew – but they didn’t want to face the reality.  Familiar chord, isn’t it?

It took a lot longer to disintegrate than I thought it would.  But its end came, and it was a long, sorry fall.  In its corner of the amusement park industry, ERA was a giant, a monopoly.  And because it was a monopoly, a lot of things had happened to the company over the years.  For one, there was widespread complacency.

For a company that charged McKinsey-level rates, I couldn’t believe that the company still didn’t have a central database or repository of knowledge.  There were relics in our office that again, I should have saved or asked for, because they should be enshrined in the Annals.

Typewriters from the 1960s.  Dewey-decimal card systems for a physical library of brochures, books, encyclopedias, and reports, many of them terribly outdated by decades.  Brochures from World Fairs during the 1960s and 1970s.  Reports and relics from failed Japanese theme parks of the 1990s.  Secretaries who took down dictations of reports and emails/letters by older partners.  On typewriters.  Older partners who off the top of their head could dictate 5 to 10 pages at a time.  Slide rules.  11×18 spread, sheets.  If you don’t know what that last one is, think a notepad of graph paper-like cells in them, except wider – basically like a physical version of Microsoft Excel.  And partners who would take a No. 2 pencil, do a cash flow, and do the sensitivity analysis by writing a different variable at the top and erasing/replacing each individual cell on the rows below it.

The office was a hybrid of a Mad Men set and a modern workplace.  The first day I joined, I introduced myself to a 70-year partner who guffawed, slapped me on both cheeks, and said it was good to have some young blood in the office.

But I mention all this because if nothing else, the company is a case study for the power of a brand.  Having a brand that was present at the creation myth (Disneyland) of the entire industry gave you immense value.

The value helped the company coast through a decade or two in a state of inefficiency.  This was the beginning of when I began to realize things about companies.  Like the fact that a larger a company gets, the more latitude there is for inefficiency.  Again, companies are groups of people.  Is it harder to kill 2 people working out of a garage or a band of 100?  Probability-wise, unless you’re a company like Instagram, I’m choosing the latter.

A brand markets for you while you sleep.  A brand allows you to charge hundreds of percent premiums.  A brand allows you to coast and smoothes over suboptimal product quality – although you shouldn’t do this.  But always do try to build a brand.

But, probably because of its brand, the company had become complacent.  Some of the analyses were trash, frankly speaking.  Some of the partners had checked out, a long, long time ago.

And maybe that was the biggest lesson of all for me.  And when I think about it, it’s perhaps the real underlying reason I left – seeing that complacency in a lot of the people, I realized it’s not what or where I wanted to be.

A Real Estate Career: Lessons Learned (2006)

After about a year at the brokerage, I moved across the courtyard of our office-industrial complex to a smaller shop where I became a monk at the temple of Excel.

In retrospect, before I left, I should have tried to become an agent and at least do a deal or two and actually deeply understand everything from the lead stage to closing.  I understood it better than most, but not as much as I could have.

But I didn’t do these things.

It’s hard to articulate my thinking at the time.  I was naive and arrogant/blind.  I mentioned before that because of the tremendous amount of money some were making, they either felt guilty or like it wasn’t theirs.

For me, looking at the tremendous amount of money others were making, sometimes working 5 hours a week, it gave me the impression that money was abundant, and that to earn it required little skill, and more like random optionality and knowing the right people.

I also should have tried to learn more from the actual hard-workers in the office, like my boss Greg.  But partly because he was never in, and partly because I was arrogant and blind, I didn’t.

So now officially, I became an analyst at Del Mar Equity Partners, a TIC sponsor.  This means nothing to anyone outside of real estate, but it suffices to say we were basically an investor looking for good deals, and syndicating them out to a range of other investors.  Like doing a group-buy of real estate.  And making some money in the process for being the originator.

In practical terms, this meant I moved from an office of a group of 15 young hooligans doing eating competitions, boxing matches, arm-wrestling and push-up tournaments everyday, to a sedate environment where I worked with only two other people – my boss, Martin, and an administrative assistant.

This provided much less pandemonium, and less time devoted to psychological analysis of extreme humans, but things were no less entertaining.

Since agents and brokers around the country knew we were a source of capital, we got bombarded with deals.

Some of these deals showed up unsolicited in the mailbox in the form of postcards and too-good-to-be-true brochures.  Others showed up in my inbox, with rent rolls attached and scarcely any explanation to them.  Some of these deals made sense.

Others did not, like deals where you were supposed to invest, and you got no money or any return for a few years, and then at the end you got an unspecified return on the appreciation of the property.  Like a zero-coupon bond.  Except even riskier, and again, no guarantees on what your principal was worth at the end.

And sometimes people called.  Sometimes I would get calls from guys who sounded like they were working in boiler rooms.  Some guy with a wiseguy accent would call and ask me if I wanted to hear about an opportunity.  Then if I said yes, he would ask me if I was ready, if I really wanted to hear about the opportunity, if I was really ready or not.  It sounded like these fluffers were trying to get me to stay on the line until they called the real closer over, but I never stayed on the line.

Anyway, for the next six months, I became a master technician of Excel.  Not a master real estate analyst, understand: a master technician.  More on this later.

My job was to model out the deals we were getting pitched.  This meant I had to model a few dozen a week.  Now looking back at it, I spent those months doing what I thought at the time was ‘analysis’: filtering dozens of deals a day, modeling them, and recommending the ones that ended up with good returns.

But what I was actually getting good at was not analysis, nor real estate evaluation.  It was Excel.  Partly because of the sheer volume of deals, and partly because of the sheer time I was spending with the program, I became obsessed with Excel itself.

I started slowly by implementing functions like dynamic rent bumps, and probabilistic Monte Carlo simulations on rents when the leases rolled over.  I implemented arrays and quintuple nested functions referring to INDIRECT and OFFSET cells.  I had macros that pulled in information from demographic sources to update assumptions.

It had become my goal to model the behavior and performance of a building, to recreate it in a small file sitting on my laptop.

This wasn’t analysis at all, and this Excel work itself didn’t actually help me become a better investor.  What I was doing was ascribing Excel with an intelligence it didn’t have, and hoping to imbue this construct with decision-making and analytical capabilities.  It was intellectual laziness, in a way.

If I could have this period back again, I would: conduct more interviews, do actual on-the-ground research, talk to owners, brokers, shopowners down the street from the building, in the name of articulating a thesis on different markets/types, and then test these theses continuously.

What I’ve realized ever since, is that in real estate, doing an initial filter on a deal is not some arcane exercise of testing 100 different assumptions.

It’s an exercise in evaluating maybe 5 core ones, like cap rate, rents, growth, supply, and expenses.  A good investor will probably only spend five minutes on the back of an envelope filtering a deal, and if it passes, then spending 95% of the time testing these core assumptions with research.

I didn’t know any of this yet.  I didn’t have a filter system so I was looking at every deal like it was some sort of abstruse puzzle that could only be unlocked with my magical tool, Excel.

What I was lacking was critical thinking, big picture thinking, and thinking from first principles.  Anyone can learn or be taught to become a technician.  Becoming an actual analyst requires you to think.

I didn’t know how to think yet.  I didn’t have a view of the analysis I should be doing, and because I thought that just “doing Excel” was the whole job, I was bored, frankly speaking.

And so I left this job too, six months after joining.  We did two deals when I was there, out of the hundreds I had scoured.  In retrospect, that’s a lot for six months.  But in my naivete, I thought it was too little.

Also, one of the deals was literally nothing more than an off-market property that we flipped within a few months, sight-unseen.  This deal just about sums up both my experience there and the spirit of the time.

I left because in a sense, I thought there was no more growth opportunity for me.  And I believed it for a while.  Only in recent years have I realized it couldn’t be further from the truth.

In any kind of job, there is a wide range of ‘winging it’.  Because I had only worked at small companies and everyone kind of did everything, I thought (at the time) that this prevented me from falling into a ‘winging it’ mentality.  After all, I did what was assigned to me and did it well.  But I was still in a lazy zone.

In any job, there is a level of performing the job that is beyond just doing the job.  This level is thinking like an owner, like you have something at stake.  Thinking like an owner will open your eyes to new opportunities, because you’ll understand the opportunities and constraints, and how decisions are made.

In the years since I’ve worked these first two jobs, I’ve come to believe that unless you start thinking like an owner, you have no real knowledge about your business or industry.

And the way you know whether you’ve grown as far as you can grow in a job is, can you do the owner’s job?  For me, the answer was no, for both jobs.  Therefore I hadn’t tapped out my growth potential.

But back then, I didn’t realize any of this yet.

I quit and for a time I was jobless.  And a little directionless.

I interviewed at a surf company.  I remember walking into their Orange County office in business casual and drawing stares, because everyone else was in t-shirts and shorts.  Talk about a game theoretic exercise: do you dress down for a job interview at a surf company, potentially disrespecting the interviewer, or do you dress up, and run the risk of looking clueless?

Anyway, I didn’t get the job, but the interviewer did give me a new wetsuit as a sort of compensatory prize.  It was a little small for me but thicker than my existing one, and better for winter surfing.

Now we were in the summer of 2006.  After a few months, I was going to be in for a real treat.

A Real Estate Career: Lessons Learned (2004-2005)

I graduated from Penn in 2004.  I had no job or any prospects to speak of, so I moved back home to LA after spending a summer in Philadelphia fruitlessly looking for a job.

Back home, I saw that the majority of my high school class had become loan brokers at names like New Century Financial, Countrywide, and Washington Mutual.

I grew up in the San Gabriel Valley, which among other things was famous for suburban pot farms, and I also noticed that a not-insignificant percentage of my high school class had gone in the marijuana business.

One guy I knew from high school told me point blank that he liked the mortgage business because it “was like drug-dealing: you give people a fix, and they keep coming back for more.  They can’t resist.”  I remember that he used to drug deal in high school, too.  I guess he had chosen the more lucrative route.

It’s hard to express the sentiment of that time.  Everyone was getting rich off real estate.

I remember the fact that some of my friends who hadn’t even gone to college, were giving no down payment loans to people and making $20,000 a month, did give me pause about how the world wasn’t the way I had learned it to be.

But I liked the idea of real estate because it was tangible.  My senior year at Penn, I had interned for the largest campus housing landlord, and they all seemed like a bunch of easy-going, Philly wiseguys.  I liked that.

When you graduate from Wharton, half the class goes into banking.  I heard stories about how you worked 120 hours a week in banking.  And I didn’t like that.

And with a lack of prospects, no interviews, and no jobs to speak of, I made the decision to go into real estate.

At first, I thought I might like going into the public sector.  I interned at Senator Feinstein’s office in San Diego and researched the economic impact of military bases.  The internship paid no money, so I worked as a picker in a t-shirt factory part-time.  In the other remaining time, I surfed.

But most importantly, I rented a room from a woman, who I’ll call Lucy, who had no discernible job.

My lasting memory of her was of her sitting on a couch, eating ice cream, and watching tv – both when I left for work, and also when I came home.  And it was during one of her ice cream-eating sessions that we struck up a conversation and she mentioned to me that she was in real estate.

When I asked what she did, she said she bought houses.  She had three already, she said.  It was so easy, she said.  She was planning to buy a few more.  Because all you had to do was take out loans and wait for the prices to go up.  In fact, her agent was one of her best friends and later moved in to my room when I moved out.

Midway through the internship, I decided that the public sector was not as fast or impactful as I had imagined.  I wanted to see some action.

So, I applied for a job at Marcus and Millichap, the real estate brokerage.  Almost immediately, I was invited to an info session where I was witness to a presentation that should be enshrined somewhere in the historical annals.

My lasting memory from that presentation was towards the end when the agent put up a slide.

The slide was a grid whose rows were Years 1-5, and whose 3 or 4 columns represented duds, high performers, and rockstars.  In the cells were numbers that represented the incomes that each of these categories of people in the world, stood to make at Marcus and Millichap.

I noticed that the duds started at $80,000 and climbed their way north of six figures in the second year.  The rockstars started in the mid-six figures and were making millions by year three.

These numbers all sounded great, and I decided to sign up.  But there was a catch.  Unfortunately, they said, the job was commission-only so they recommended that you have a savings fund of at least six months to live off of, while you “learned”.

This sounded a lot like school, so I passed on that opportunity and told myself the numbers were probably all fake, anyway.

I moved up from San Diego and stayed with a friend who was in his final year at UCLA.  There, while looking for jobs, I opened the newspaper and spotted a posting with Marcus and Millichap in the El Segundo office.  It was paid.

That paragraph makes me sound ancient, but trust me, there were online job posts and applications back in 2004 too.  Maybe it was dying out, but still.  That’s just how things happened.

I interviewed and got the job.  My salary, if you can call it that, was $12/hour with no benefits, and my job was to maintain the internal database.

At the end of 2004 and during 2005, money was falling from the sky.  And that’s what the theme of those years was: money.  Money, so much of it, that numbers became meaningless.  Hundreds of thousands, millions, and NBA superstar money, being earned by agents in their 20s and early 30s for essentially, making phone calls.

And before you get the wrong idea, the money wasn’t going into my pockets.  I was still at $12/hr.  I was poor enough and without benefits that sometimes in restaurants, if people at the tables next to me left food untouched, I would eat it.  Sometimes after they left, and other times I asked nicely.

My job at the Harris Group of Marcus and Millichap was to maintain and ensure the integrity of the database of leads.  This meant a lot of searching online through other databases to validate information.  It was boring, so I quickly asked for other things to do.

And so over the next year, while helping maintain that database, I also helped underwrite and package deals totaling maybe more than a billion dollars in nominal value.

For a long time afterwards, this entire experience working on the “sell-side”, so to speak, at a real estate brokerage, made me skeptical almost to the point of cynical, about actually investing in real estate.

In my naivete, I first thought that the prices we were going to sell buildings for, were what they were worth.  So I pored over rent rolls and looked up market averages for rates and prices.  What I learned instead, what that there is no such thing as anything actually being ‘worth’ anything.  The sales price is what a broker wants to sell it for, and all the numbers surrounding it are the supporting props that have been artfully arranged to convince you that this price is the right and true one.

And if you think the price is too high, based on the market comps, you are entitled to your opinion, and may be mathematically correct – but if someone else comes by, who is using a tax advantaged scheme to roll out of a previous property and is under a time crunch to park their funds in something else and so snatches up this expensive property, at or higher than listing price because of a false perception that they are competing, then…what was it actually worth?  Who’s right?  You or them?

On our packages, we sometimes photoshopped gangsters out of the roof of some of our building photos, and photoshopped luxury cars into the streets in front of them.  And sometimes I would discover mistakes I had made in the modeling, much later – and it didn’t matter, because the deals had already sold anyway with the buyers scarcely looking at the cash flow.

During a bubble, money becomes divorced from the effort required to earn it.  In our office, there were agents who worked an average of two hours a day, three days a week.  There was one who was making a million dollars a year from having landed a single big-time client on a lucky phone call.  And sometimes these agents would go into the offices of the harder-working agents and steal leads off their desks and make six figure commissions.

Even though my job was to maintain a database of leads, that last reason is why sometimes people sabotaged my work by trying to pay me on the side to not do my job, or to give them contact information for their own use.  In reality, not many people wanted me to share the hard-won contact information for potential leads across the whole office.  They wanted it for themselves.  This is when I learned about misalignment of incentives.

I don’t want to give the impression that no one in the office worked.  The Harris Group was named after Greg Harris, who was and probably still is, a legendary superagent.  Greg’s stare was of the laser beams shooting out of his eyeballs variety, and he was always on the phone, always in that rapid-fire staccato voice that hammered poor clients down out of their illusions of paying less for a building than it was ‘worth’.

One of my lasting impressions of Greg is a time I walked into the men’s room and saw, under the stall doors, someone sitting on the toilet with pants around his ankles, doing a real estate deal at full volume.  It was Greg.

His work ethic was legendary, and when he was first starting out, I heard he hired interns even younger than he was to drive him from his home to the office at 4 am – no one else was up at that time, except the elderly landlords and investors who he would be calling, and who would remember that he had been the first to call them that day.

And this is also when I learned about money.  They say money makes you more of what you already are.  That is true.

I also think money, in some deep way, also reveals your deepest held beliefs.

The agents in our office were split into two camps.  The ones who worked two hours a day, bought nice cars and homes, partied mid-week in Ibiza and Miami, and had no compunction or even deep thought about living through a bubble of historical proportions.

We had other agents who made just as much money but who were deeply terrified of the state of the world and felt that something was deeply, utterly wrong, and sought to serve penance for it, in a way, by working even harder.  These agents, I think, sometimes felt guilty.  Like when they did deals that caused market rents for an entire town to double.

But if I really think about it, the two camps weren’t so different, fundamentally.  The first camp spent their money as soon as it came in, like they were laundering it.  Perhaps from feeling like it wasn’t really theirs.

During this job, I also learned about the power of sales.  Selling is storytelling, and sales is an art form that needs to be taught in school, because the basis of our shared reality as humans exists as a series of beliefs and stories.

I learned that during a bubble, the best salesmen are the people who deliver their message with absolute conviction, no matter how outrageous it is.

Actually, the more outrageous, the better to catch your attention.  Because during times like that, peoples’ beliefs are being tested.  And during periods when peoples’ beliefs are being tested, they want to listen to people who sound like prophets.

At the time, real estate cap rates of 4-5%, even on trophy properties, were considered unbelievably low.  And sales prices of $200,000/unit on multifamily residential were considered high.  In any case, the actual figures don’t really matter.

What matters is that the best agents in our office were the ones who could talk about cap rates of 4% and prices of $250,000/door as if they were universal constants like e or pi – and often, I noticed, the less the agent actually knew about market conditions, the lower his doubt, so the higher his conviction, the higher his credibility, and the higher his closing rate.

Meanwhile, those who overanalyzed (like me), stood by in disbelief.  In times like those, the best storytellers don’t even need a firm grasp of English.  Just belief.

And my last point is that when you’ve worked around people in real estate for a long time, you’ll pick up a pattern of speaking.

This pattern of speaking is whereby crazy claims are stated boldly as to make others doubt, waver, to ultimately put them at a disadvantage.  This is a variation of the anchoring effect/bias.

This technique absolutely ravages weak souls, conciliatory/nice people, and those who are unsure of themselves.  Let’s say you’re trying to sell me a car and we meet, go through the pleasantries, and after I look at your car, the first thing I say at the top of my lungs is that I’m going to offer 20% of your list price for it because the bumpers of your car model cause cancer.

Now if you’re inured to this type of speaking then you’ll just shake your head no or tell me to GTFO.

But if you’re a nice person, or out of practice with this type of aggression, you’ll start doubting yourself.  Your initial reaction to the 20% was shock and disbelief, but you’ll start thinking…maybe I did price it too high.  Your initial reaction to the cancer claim was the same, but now you’re thinking about it – maybe the metal or the paint in it does cause cancer, but the incidence of cancers from bumpers is very, very low.  What you’ll do is start to explain this it depth and try to argue it logically.  Now you’ve lost because you’re playing my game.

You’ll try to bring reason into, and analyze/dissect a fundamentally illogical and absurd claim.  Congratulations, you’ve lost.  The discussion will go into the finer points of airborne carcinogens and colors – and you’re in a hole because you’re tacitly implying there may be some truth to the cancer claim instead of making ground in the other direction.  And with the doubt of the price lingering over your head, the price will slowly creep down to my target.

I mention all this because this was the prevailing way we all talked to each other in the office, whether discussing foods, sports, real estate, or even pets, the latter of which actually led some people to start believing that such a thing as a pig-dog (a cross between a pig and a dog), existed.  And this is the way of speaking that during a bubble, or times of distortion and change, lead people to believe insane things, like that prices will keep going up forever.

The only way to counter this technique is to: a) recognize it immediately, and either b) counter with an equally insane, but opposite claim so the discussion grounds still stay somewhere in the middle, or c) drop it and walk away.

I also note that our current president (who is a real estate guy, by the way) has taken this technique all the way to the top.  He says outlandish things and has the other side/media actually take it seriously and try to refute his claims by logic.  If you do that, you start playing the other person’s game so you’ve lost.

As I see it now, the Democrats seem to have stopped their full-fledged losing campaign, and moved from c) the outraged dismissal phase, to b) full communism.

What You Get in a Homogeneous Society

Culture, not ethnicity, is the determining factor of a society’s outcomes.  Korea has a homogeneous culture.  Policymakers in the US will often cite Scandinavian countries or East Asian countries to rationalize their opinions, but usually these statements have miniscule merit, as what you get in a homogeneous society is not what can be gotten in a free-for-all like the US.

Here are some notes from being in Korea for over a year now.  In a homogeneous society, you get:

  • Lower crime, and kids under the age of 10 riding the subway or bus by themselves, and walking home after leaving their tutoring academies at midnight.
  • A social problem with people inflicting physical violence on police officers, ambulance workers, firefighters, and medics.
  • Informal credit systems where neighborhood grocers will tell you to pay them for groceries later, with no mention of when or even of a deadline.  This extends to modern restaurants when the POS system is down, and they tell you to come back later to pay them back.
  • Less of a litigious society, with personal lawsuits over bodily injuries, medical malpractice, etc., not very common or pursued – mostly, these types of things are settled out of the courts or person-to-person over the phone.  Correspondingly, a lower cost of social services like child daycares ($100/mo.) or medical care.
  • A society/major city with a higher average level of service for most things.  A city that is so prosperous, that sometimes it gives out bus and subway rides for free.
  • The culinary custom of serving an entire table-full of side dishes for free, which can be refilled to your stomach’s content.  This has been going on for decades, if not centuries, and abuse has not caused it to stop.
  • An inherent-not-explicitly stated business oligarchic class that has implicit societal objectives such as high employment at the expense of productivity and margins and ROE, although none of the Korean conglomerates would ever admit to this.
  • Rampant double-parking on the street, with cars put in neutral and their owners’ cell phone numbers either printed or otherwise left on the dashboard.  If a car is blocking another driver, then the other driver is expected to push the car (which is in neutral) out of the way – and if it doesn’t work, then to call the owner, whether at 6 am or 6 pm.
  • The laxest public transportation security measures and ticket checks in the world, in my opinion.  For domestic flights, you can show up 10 minutes before the actual flight to check in and get waved through.  On trains, you can book a ticket and waltz onto the train and pass zero security checks and zero ticket attendants.  Your relatives can get on the train with you to say their goodbyes, until a message over the intercom helpfully announces that any well-wishers should deboard or risk being taken halfway across the country.
  • Older men who often communicate in a series of grunts or gestures at restaurants.
  • In playrooms (note: not schools), the moms come by with kids as young as 3 and just drop them off for a few hours.  Just drop them off.  If the kids need to go to the bathroom, one of the frontline staff, regardless of gender, takes them to the bathroom.
  • Kids who come out to the public parks on the weekend, alone, to play.  As it should be, probably.

But what you also get is:

  • An invisible pressure to conform to social norms and mores, including that of physical beauty, and a huge plastic surgery and aesthetic care industry.
  • Rampant copying and gauntlet-style jousting as the prevailing method of competition in every facet of life, from education, to restaurants, to business in general.
  • Highest average spending on education in the OECD, with high average test scores on math and science to match, but limited innovation and creativity, a lot of which is directly related to the oligarchic business complex that stifles / crushes SME’s and mom and pop stores.
  • An entertainment-industrial complex that churns out pop stars as if on an assembly line, with artists at the mercy and whim of their producers, who create, produce, prettify, write the songs, house, feed, and choreograph the dances for them.
  • High rates of suicide as people who don’t feel they have succeeded along the narrow metrics of defined success, feel they have failed in life.
  • Barriers to immigration that are causing the society to age, and die – with deaths outnumbering births, the population will soon plummet.
  • Insane FOMO, as evidenced during the cryptocurrency boom and bust within a span of a few months last year (2017), that drives speculative bubbles.  See 1997, 2007 as well for eerie rhyming.
  • Binge drinking at a societal level, and despite repeated regulations telling employers not to force employees to go on forced outings where some people die from an excessive amount of alcohol consumption, the highest in the world on a per-capita basis.  Resultant lack of productivity in the mornings after is socially accepted, as is workers showing up at 10am, red-faced and smelling like alcohol, and wasting the entire morning.
  • Liver failure and stomach cancer common from the excess amount of drinking that is required for such social situations, in combination with the spicy paste that pervades everything.

Elements – Philippines Edition

1. This rooftop garden in the foreground, at bottom, hovering above Makati.  So lush and alluring.  I’ve decided that my company’s future office will be located in such a setting.

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2.  In most developed countries, furniture has become disposable.  Of course there’s a role for disposable furniture, but there’s a role for solid, permanent furniture too.  I present this picture of a table setting in El Nido to introduce a single thing – the sheer mass of the table and chairs.  These chairs were at least 40 pounds each and were difficult to move just with an arm.  And no, I didn’t even try moving the table.  This is the kind of furniture that will stock the office in our rooftop garden.

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3.  Bedside tables/reading desks built right into the bedframe.  Why is this not more of a thing?  And as expected, solid.  Could probably have supported by weight as a chair.

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4.  This is where I stayed in El Nido, and I moved the desk from the corner to here.  I tried for many years to work out of minimalist virtual offices where my desk was nothing but an empty surface surrounded by nothing but blank walls.  And while that might work for some people, I couldn’t work more than an hour before needing refreshment or a walk outside.  Eventually I moved out of the private offices to cheaper hotdesks where I was surrounded by ambient conversation, open space, and windows.  This, is a natural extension of the ‘office’ setting that works for me, and will serve as inspiration for my eventual rooftop garden office.

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Wrong End of a Telescope

Multiple times during my early twenties, I tried to destroy all remnants of my past.

I purged emails, I tossed journals and letters, burned pictures.  This was usually after great disappointment, during periods when I learned that life was not going to follow my Grand Script.

During these times, I wanted to change everything about myself, because I didn’t like the person I had become.  But now I regret it, and I would urge any person of any age to keep a journal.

There are lots of reasons to keep one.  It’ll remind you of the person you once were.  In recent years I’ve been searching for who I was at 20, 25, even 30.  It’ll remind you of why you made certain decisions – so you can make better ones in the future.  It’ll keep you honest, even if you sometimes don’t like the memories.

Another important reason is it’ll give you hope for the future – because of how much things change, and that in many ways, the present is beyond the wildest imaginings of our past selves.

At some point for everyone, you’ll wake up one day and feel old.  This has officially happened to me in the last few months.  There’s a lot to this I’ll discuss later.  But in the meantime I’ve been doing a little reminiscing…

  • In my elementary school during the ’80s, I remember having emergency nuclear war drills.  They were kind of like earthquake drills, where you had to crawl under your desk.  In the event of a war with the USSR, who I always remember was this weird figment of an enemy, imbuing things with a malaise I couldn’t quite name.
  • In elementary through high school during the ’90s, there were gangs everywhere and you couldn’t wear certain colors: red, blue.  In elementary school I remember it was a little more strict, and there were even more colors like purple and black, because some of the gangs wore Raiders gear.  I remember our sixth grade teacher telling us all these salacious stories of older kids murdering each other in terrible ways.  Those older kids, to me now, are just kids.  I remember going through junior high and high school always with a low level of terror about getting jumped or tailed somewhere and jumped because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I remember some kids I know getting stabbed, shot, hit with baseball bats, going to jail, overdosing, etc.
  • I remember as a kid not having to wear seatbelts, and falling asleep standing up in the center back seat.
  • I also remember the seatbelt law taking effect in LA, and hating it, as I chafed and sweated under it.
  • I remember when I was a toddler, my dad telling me to wait outside a liquor store as he went in and bought something.  I was 3, and this was Koreatown, LA.
  • I remember living in that neighborhood, on Mariposa, and hearing gunshots all the time – pop, pop, pop – and being terrified whenever my dad went jogging.
  • I remember on flights there being a ‘smoking’ section, and hating having to fly to see family because where there were smoking sections, there is no such thing as the ‘non-smoking’ section.  I remember smoking sections in restaurants too.  How idiotic.
  • I remember that growing up, in our home, the phone line was the scarcest resource.  Not only did my sister and I spend hours talking to friends on it, it was also the only way to log onto AOL – and the internet.
  • I remember first using the internet and chatting with people.  I remember distinctly feeling like the access to information was changing my brain.  There was a point, as I chatted on AIM and surfed the internet at the same time, that I remember thinking that my old ways of writing letters by hand, of doing research using encyclopaedias, taking notes, etc., were gone and had been erased.
  • I remember some of my closest friends getting suspended or expelled for having marijuana at school.  Now it’s almost banal.  I remember when dealing was a lucrative and highly illegal trade, and sometimes there were kids who all of a sudden came to school with nice cars, dropped with rims and insane stereo systems that would pop your eardrums out, new jewellery, all from this trade.
  • I remember when Facebook first came out, and my friends and I being confused about what social network to go all-in on: Myspace, Friendster, Facebook.  It was too much trouble trying to update all three at the same time.
  • I remember learning, in the supposed best business school in the world, about the neat way that interest rates and the economy were managed by the Fed, about neat formulas on how to value things, about supply and demand curves, and a lot of discussion on Japan, and nothing on China.  Right now I use almost nothing I learned there, except accounting.
  • I remember 2001 when the planes hit the WTC, I was in finance class and a kid ran in and shouted that a plane had taken out one of the towers.  Blankly, the professor looked at him and kept talking.  Some kids shuffled out.  Later, I turned on the tv and watched the smoke billowing out of the tower, thinking it was surreal.  But classes still went on.
  • A few months later, after a rash of suicides, a malaise settled over campus and I remember a group of my friends sitting in my dorm, all talking.  The two girls huddled next to me were my friends who I regarded/regard as sisters.  I remember the service guys coming in to install unopenable windows to prevent the aforementioned suicides, seeing me in particular, chuckling, and saying that they wished they were still in college.  I didn’t think of it as any big deal, but now I know what they meant 🙂
  • At my graduation, I remember seeing a fairly big celebrity who happened to be the father of one of my classmates, as he posed for pictures in front of Huntsman Hall.  Who would have thought he would be our current president.
  • I remember the real estate bubble.  When I returned home after graduating college, all my friends were either loan officers in Orange County or directly/indirectly involved in the marijuana trade.  I remember when LA/South Bay/Westside buildings used to trade for 6-8% cap rates and the astonishment in our office when things traded at 4-5% because it was “expensive”.
  • 12 years ago when I started my first job, I remember spending a lot of downtime downloading videos from all over the internet for my colleagues’ amusement.  I remember Youtube coming out, and thinking it would fail because it had none of the videos we wanted to watch.
  • 11 years ago I remember looking at my friend’s iPhone and feeling that the world had changed.  This is an appropriate time to use the phrase mind blown, because it is one of the few times in my life I actually felt this.  The time before that was the internet.
  • I remember taking my first international business class flight around this time and thinking it was so cool, feeling smug and satisfied, and wishing that flying around the world could be my job.  Now I hate traveling.
  • 10 years ago I used to drive 40-50 minutes to travel 3 miles to work.  If I still had to do that hellhole of a commute again, I would Uber.
  • 8 years ago I remember in Silicon Valley, thinking that my bschool classmates who wanted to go work for Twitter and Zynga and companies like that were making a crazy choice.  I remember Uber first coming out and thinking it was the dumbest thing I had ever heard of.

I wish I had kept a journal.  Keeping one is probably one of the best habits I could have had.

Besides that, I’m positive that the next 10 to 20 years will be beyond anything we’ve ever imagined.  In a good way.